Let Me Sleep
"Lucretsia," oh, what a word that trembles on my breath,
that's spoken pale and hazy in my final sigh of death.
For ne'er I heard a name so rare with beauty so complete,
an innocence was planted there, an expertise deceit.
Like mourning doves, shunned by their loves, my fate's the same it seems.
I felt the bliss of your sweet kiss but only in my dreams.
My sanctuary, slumber, I await you with delight.
So hasten, sun, to set and turn the golden day to night.
No love is true that's loved by you, and so I hesitate,
affections lie, I can't comply, my lucid dreams await.
Lucretsia, who had the power to make my frail heart leap.
My fantasies perch on the hour of midnight. Let me sleep
Your smile was false, but I was young and eager to be fooled,
and noticed not the flame of envy needing to be cooled.
His bitter eyes were hot and green, and twisted, his desires,
and he by both remained unseen, and both he saw as liars.
Oh, jealousy such urgency do you with spite provoke
I, dormant, suffer torment when my love does me invoke.
I do not want the lie I want on truth that I do not,
so leave me, love, and spare your cruel deception any thought.
Intrusions, my illusions you destroy and I deplore:
my peace you take when I awake, your knock on dreamland's door.
I hear your footsteps from the hall into my chamber creep,
I'm beckoned by your urgent call, but utter "Let me sleep."
Yet no reply, no single word did meet my waking ear,
naught but a creak upon the ancient floorboards did I hear.
A strike so quick and cutting that I hardly could detect
my killer gravely gutting, his ambitions to protect.
I gaze into the shadowy haze to see those emerald eyes,
my enemy by jealousy in apathy's disguise.
A streak of warmth trails down my face as his lights up with glee,
with passion for the slaughter, and tonight the victim's me,
yes he, betrayed, with bloodied blade, and hands of red. I cry
"Lucretsia…" a plea to thee, my last word as I die.
His vicious knives sunk into skin, they sought my soul to reap,
but not once touched my heart within. Desist, and let me sleep.
A wicked smile twists his face, a spark of grisly pride
to know his lone competitor by his mad hand had died.
He bore me from the tainted room and murderously laughed,
and found me my eternal tomb, with morbid epitaph:
And here he lies, with wandering eyes. Oh, Vincent had you known
she whom you covet thought naught of it, let you die alone.
But cruel and bitter irony steps in as I depart,
'twas then that sweet Lucretsia, endured a change of heart,
a throb of pain as I am slain, and, frightened, does awake.
An aching chest, she clutched her breast, a pale hand o'er the break.
My time has ended on this earth, and sadly, now you weep.
Your diamond tears, my life's not worth, so stop, and let me sleep.
A faint sob, so implausible, he disbelieves he hears.
No warming welcome with a smile, but bloodshot eyes and tears.
He, robbed of glory and of praise, discovers in my bed
upon the linen, dark and gory, her form takes my stead.
Two bloodstains mingle, fingers tingle, sapped of vital life,
next her collapse, her wrists he wraps despite her mortal strife.
So sought you quiet death that you might reunite with me.
He, unforgiving, kept you living, withheld all mercy.
You roamed the halls, the echoing walls, with one purpose in mind:
from past regrets and unpaid debts some sweet solace to find.
Sought you my body, undecayed, though buried in the deep.
You would not find it anyway. Turn back, and let me sleep
For yours, a soul too young and pure for dwelling on the past,
I may have been your first love, but I should not be your last.
Though he may ghoulishly remain, and, sentrylike, observe,
you should not foolishly refrain from love that you deserve.
He did not kill, despite his will, he could not follow through,
although he tried, I never died: My heart lives on in you.
Look not with shame upon the fleshy lines that scar your wrist,
it is remembrance only, feelings you could not resist.
So mourn me not, my love, my dove, Lucretsia, my dear…
…but set me free, your love for me must not delay me here.
Although, in life, I wanted best for you, my hand, to keep
My weary soul needs rest, and you must finally let me sleep.
Author's Ending Note Thingy: Two days, and much stress after I began this ridiculously complex poem, it's finished, and I can stop spending every waking moment of my life revising, and get back to focussing on my homework. I hope you like it... I realize that the clarity of what is going on was often sacrificed in order to make rhyme and meter fit (also, the story doesn't happen quite the same way as it does in the game, which is another possible source of confusion)... Lastly, I realize I misspelled Lucrecia's name, I spelled it phonetically to the way it's technically supposed to be pronounced, which also happens to be the only way it fits into the meter. Anyways... feed a starving author, please leave a review and stuff!