Sweeping pale, the wind blew about; torrents aghast—the billowing snow. The current of the world fluttered by bleu-stained window panes. Where choirs sang and philharmonics roused; now it was time to make the covenant, take the oath and declare to the world their intentions, in this place, in this baroque hall. The elder Marquette de Belle accosted the podium, looking out at the mass of equinity. Violet eyes focused, meeting the same. There is nothing but fate. I stand long, headwind past the furrow, waiting for these zealous urges to come roaring by. I am alive and I am to be dealt with accordingly! Ready their gaze and forgive them of their transgressions. Now we rise!
"Brothers! Sisters! Too long have we suffered these abuses at the hands of our betters! We have endured these repulsive usurpations in their name. I say peers—join me, join us! Take this oath with me and declare your allegiance! We plead to God—guide us."
Horns bellowed and the bells rang, time now to be counted. She took the gavel in her aura; she rapped it against the lectern. She inhaled, cool air, the grandeur of this all.
"We now swear to one another, to our friends, and to our people. We now move towards the day of brilliant light, gallant. Let the di land how it may!"
~*~
"O!"
"So’e took’ff ‘is knickers and lay flat on ’is arse callin’ ou’ta lord know’s what!"
Round a booth in the back of the pub-house the circle of friends broke out into a laugh.
"‘Alf lamentin’—oh, ‘is drunkenness."
"So Die, awt’s been about in the Creachlands."
She perked up from her drink, "been well worth the rounds, off’er tomorrow I meet up with th’unions ‘opefully keep up."
"Piquing!"
"The unions Flutts?"
"O’evens no, damnable borrows always letting on. I’m just thinking to myself; got-a letter from St. George, sayin’ they got a Puffer. O lament, just the length away."
"No issue ‘ere Flutts, I’ll keep ya company—"
~*~
I am a gadfly, sitting still.
Watching as those pass by me,
I make no sound.
Cast you dreaming and move you off guard;
this circus of fools, pirouette.
I am here—broken by your whims;
a pile of chalk and ash.
These little folks hustle around—flutter about.
They are hungry… for bread, for will.
Now Celeste stands firm at the precipice—O, what mischief!
As Selene now prepares to ascend.
Fly away these little scenes;
for now I draw the curtain.
See with your minds what she has, a prisoner herself.
Now I shall be your poet, your guide.
T’was in the morn of December, bleakness filled with lights!
Fireflies latticed buildings, hearths glowing, dreaming.
Soup was poured into two matching bowls.
A ragged mare’s weary eyes filled with glee.
In haste she took the sébile, in shaking hooves she sipped—
slowly.
A smile formed on his face, "vous êtes belles!"
"Monsieur! J’ai piquant?"
"Dansez avec moi?"
"Oui."
As best she could she disrobed.
Before the fire they waltzed, melodies in their heads, hearts.
Not knowing how or—
With the crackling logs and fireflies as witness;
they joined together.
Sparks!
Come now, I will treat you as a fool!
Vous diéserez les poèmes—c’est pour vous…
She came into the halls expecting damnation,
but whoa!
So to thundering applause they beseech her.
Now a bilith, they kiss the rings of savages!
A ballast, now, they fear her politics, rightly so.
Selene, you beautiful mare, make them wilt…
bring about your change, wonderful, wonderful change!
~*~
I am—raison d’être.
Lo!—and you are.
~*~
So there—simple, really;
On the Eighteen Hundred and Sixty Seventh Year of Their Highnesses’ Reign,
in a bierhaus court not far from the grounds of Parliament—a meeting was held.
It was to be the first of many.
The hall was lit by a roaring fire in its hearth, rich stonework.
Fall, and the leaves whisked before the windows,
and moonlight, white, pierced the yellow glow.
A young alicorn princess, Crépuscule de la Maison d’Éclat,
sat quietly, in a corner booth.
Beside her, a jasmine yellow pegasus nudged at her pint-a-mild, looking into the hearth.
The princess sipped on calvados, spiced and warmed.
"So… your highness… why no accompaniment?" asked the chromatic pegasus who sat between them.
"I did not feel it necessary."
"Your highness."
The three of them stood up as their two other guests made their way towards the table.
"Princess, thi’is Rareté de Belle, and Applejack of Ponyville."
"Greetings both of you, what brings you to Canterlot? Especially during the harvest?" She eyed Applejack.
"Tha Congress," the earth pony mare quipped, "‘sides th’arvest’s over."
"And if I may, your highness, what brings you to us?" said the unicorn, eyebrow raised.
"I grow weary of the present politic."
"So you approach us, what of th’ liberals—"
"Too afraid – she injected, – they are not ready."
"And we are? – the jasmine pegasus whispered."
"I would hope."
"So ‘ou’re not afraid of be’in in-a-pact wit’us?"
"Should I?"
"You’ave more power than you let’on?"
"You could say that."
She sipped her mauled spirit.
~*~
Water, eau et vie, plucked the sidewalk.
Rain, delicate rain, glitter on my lashes,
take these delicate little ones on mine breasts,
and hold them warm and safe.
I have lost what I had, loving all the while.
Dear love, you have taken to heaven’s glow,
keep an eye on our girls.
Petition to almighty God for them;
sing glory to her name that they may be happy.
With my failing, my mother’s lament—keep me strong.
Grace me with will, and keep us in your thoughts.
I will—I will stand long, true.
Show my teeth and my smile;
they both deserve that which neither of us could afford.
So, now she morns the passing of day, this walleyed flower;
do not resent for you too shall arise, by the fault of circumstance.
I can hear the minstrels playing,
I can hear the minstrels playing.