The Dungeon
Someone pulled her by the shoulders, through a heavy, metal door,
The clanging of a turning lock…smell of sewage on the floor,
Smoky torches lined the passage, blackened walls with soot and grime,
Deeper…drug into the dungeon…Catherine losing track of time.
Deep into the world of shadows, heavy shackles, links of chain,
Crawling, hiding in the corner, knowing nothing but the pain,
Deeper down unto the bottom, thrown into a torture cell,
Catherine heard the Hiss of evil, coming from the bowels of hell.
Comes the hour in the dungeon,
At the breath of first reprieve,
There the fiercest battle rages-
Waiting for the King to come-
(and while she waits), to yet believe.
Ah, the Hiss, deceptive cadence,
Catherine knows he’s not her friend,
Ravaging while she is weakened,
“Love will leave you in the end”.
Ah, to voice her greatest fear,
“Love will lose. The King will leave.”
There the fiercest battle rages-
Waiting for the King to come-
(and while she waits), to yet believe.
Oh, to hear the hiss of evil,
Different from the cry of man,
Ah, the Hiss is conversation,
With direction, and a plan.
The Hiss is the language preceding a death;
The cry is the wound of the Maid Catiebeth.
Catherine hears weeping…from far down the passage…
A woman is sobbing, the guards are away.
The rattle of chains, the torches are dying,
The shadows are dancing all night and all day.
The crying is muffled, but Catherine can hear it…
She moves to the long heavy door with the bars,
And squeezes her face through the columns of metal,
To whisper to Catie, the girl with the scars.
The Maid Catiebeth was a whirlwind of feelings,
She bursts on the scene in a difficult season,
Catherine should not be surprised by her presence,
When Catie presented, she has a good reason.
Oh, little Maid, you were made to endure,
Subject to much that a girl shouldn’t know,
Broken by hands the intended to hurt,
Snuffed out the moment you started to glow.
Oh, little Maid, I was there in the darkness,
I cradled your head as you lay on the tile,
I stayed right beside you, until you could walk,
And I’m sad to say that it took you awhile.
Watching you stumble and trying to right you,
Your anger erupted- and angry you stayed,
Suffice it to say that for much of the journey,
The scars didn’t heal. You were always afraid.
Catherine need never to ask the Maid ‘why’,
The Maid Catiebeth had a reason to cry.
Catherine had known many years of routine,
A logical system, methodical pace,
As long as events could be neatly resolved,
The Maid Catiebeth hid her innocent face.
But life was complex. There was much made to suffer,
Events in the life that were out of control,
T’was then Catiebeth came to vent her emotion,
Whenever she came, she was hard to console.
Oh, she wasn’t bad, she was needy and little,
So Catherine called out, “Catiebeth”, through the bars,
But all the beseeching would fall on deaf ears,
There was no consoling the girl with the scars.
And when she arrived she would make herself known.
The Maid Catiebeth always challenged the throne.
A definite sound of an iron lock turning;
a groan, then a ‘clank!’, heavy chains hit the ground.
Someone is coming! A rustle, an echo…
Catherine was searching the dark for the sound.
The maiden was free! She stood in the passage,
Freedom was gained, no thought to the cost,
Blithely confronting the Lady’s concern,
“I know what I’m doing. I won’t become lost.”
Confident, careless, Catie, confronted,
Turning, she ran to the dark of the night…
Catie was sure she could handle the darkness,
Desperate to alter the terms of her plight.
Every Maid and every Lady has the choice, it comes to this…
Conviction from the Living Light, or urging from the evil Hiss.
“Catiebeth, please!” Catherine called to the hall,
Her scream only echoed and bounced off the wall,
Wave upon wave, in the darkest despair,
Then silence and darkness, and nobody there.
Something sharp is crushed beneath her, feeling only, loss of sight,
Tugging hard…The Little Lantern! Yet the lantern holds the Light.
Broken glass and missing handle. Inventory makes her cry.
Yet the Light is hot and glowing, thus she lifts the Lantern high.
There, inside the deepest dungeon, bound in links of heavy chain,
There is hope of clearer vision, still the presence of the pain.
Yet the Light was not extinguished, Yet the Light would dare to burn,
Yet the Little Lantern lives…
And waits until the King’s return.