A poem of Jane and Tom (post “Dye!”).
Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2000 MTV Networks.
This poem is copyright © 2002 by Bacner () and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.
In the mid-night, in dark forest, in the light of waning moon,
I decided to do magic, find what will happen soon,
Among gloomy conifer trees, in which wind moan’d a tune.
Days of heat, and days of passion vanished have long time since,
Luck has vanished – I not cared – I did not want to re-mince,
I decided to try magic, just to burn-away my sins.
Found a clearing in the forest, where many owls cried,
Where words have once been spoken, where may people died,
And amongst it I did swear – and whilst swearing, I lied.
Standing in the clearing’s centre, a protective circle drew,
And in the gleaming, glazing fire did I look – and the blaze just grew and grew.
And it happened, and it happened, in a mid-summer’s night, too.
In a blaze of reds and yellows did the great bonfire came,
Hush! A horse from forest came, looking crazy, swinging mane,
And from centre of the fire did an artist come, called Jane Lane.
Who is riding? Who is weeping? Strange noises grew and grew,
Who is groaning? Who is moaning? What this strangeness came to?
And Jane Lane came to see me – in a mid-summer’s night, too.
And Jane Lane did appear – wielding beauty mixed with fear.
Ebony her hair is, her lips like flame: clear;
She is truly young and old, dressed in scarlet clothing, hear?
And quite strangely familiar with her gaze of her blue eyes.
She confronted me and saw me, saw inside me all my lies;
Jane Lane had appeared; time was, when all life dies.
Was it not with you that I thought that true love was Paradise?
Was it not with you I thought that all that burns – it never dies?
I have cast away my spring and morn for all your lies.
Was it not you who had taught me, how conscience drunk by lips?
How beauty grows cold, how strength – like old rock – chips?
How a soul, grown careless, feels mercilessness of grips?
Oh, it’s strangely familiar the gleam of your blue eyes,
We have bonded lives together with love and war – not lies,
But can you tell me what does happen to a person when he dies?
And Jane Lane shook – and flame right – quite suddenly – grew longer.
And the shadows shook – quite suddenly – they’ve grown blacker, stronger.
And with a serpentine refiness did her gaze sharpen – meek no longer.
And, whilst shaking in the flames, did Jane Lane show her goal.
And whilst I just stood and watched it, she planned to extract her toll,
And just whilst I stood and watched it, faces came from the coal.
And each face was former girlfriend, with other man than whom I was;
And everyone was whom I loved once, whom I loved once, till, of course,
My new lover – the accursed one – made them all at once seem coarse.
Blood was dripping from each coal right before my very eyes,
Faces went away in smoke, sent into them by my lies,
And they all died – in the flame – right before my very eyes.
And the artist – she burned brighter, danced upon my fingertips.
Something we have killed together – and like rubies were her lips.
And like red-hot, molten ruby, did her cloth hang – right in strips.
And like red-and-scarlet whirlwind did above me fly Jane Lane.
And the hissing, glowing sparks came upon me, like a rain.
And in whistling and laughing artist vanished. What then came?
In a clearing in the forest did I stand amongst tree-trunks.
Weird noises came around me, some like drumming of war-junks,
Others – chanting, rustling, crying – like the prayers of mad monks.
And so that’s what has happened to me,
In the forest where a pine is locked with a fir tree,
And as stood in waning moon-light, I learned – nought came for free.