The Height of the Eclipse
To sing, oh Muse, is freedom over time
and life itself, the cage whose walls I climb
with hopes of seeing what to me you show;
but fast upon me you have taken grow
the moss that blinds me so I don't see right
you: sisters' sister hidden from my sight.
Then like a nightingale upon my back
into my ears you sing your verses black,
into my ears you sing your verses white,
into my ears you whisper still that blight.
Dispel my doubts of why you torment so,
as if to me there's something more you owe
than this elusive tale you play through me:
as my musician, me not but your key.
Though often I believe your visions cruel,
you send yet more ahead this doubt to duel.
A time appears when minds had come undone
and flames were made to counterfeit the sun
until she came. Nopony kept their hearts
with need to sing or contemplate the arts
which turned to beastly howls in the dark
or farces dancing with the gray monarch.
But years ago a mare was crying soft inside her room
as gray as slate which sepulchered her life inside her tomb.
The faded curtains drifted listless in the sullen breeze
like petals on a fading grave do flutter from the trees
who twist and writhe with frigid chill under the weeping moon
that wishes it could shine as bright as sunlight does at noon.
The moon was high, but in the sky the harbinger of dawn
marched 'cross to chase the stars away and burn the drab and fawn;
and when the early rising mares looked up to see the sky,
the night flees with a whimper. Only daylight draws up high.
For now the only friends she had to talk with in the night,
the whip-poor-will, tarantula, and maybe thrice a sprite,
they flew, or crawled, or scuttled past to make sure she was safe,
but why is it a princess should be treated like a waif?
Was Luna of a lower kind than sister's golden hues?
Did subtlety and gentle cares forsake a mare her dues?
But now that harbinger had brought the dawn above to creep,
and without solace Luna closed her eyes and lost to Sleep.
Waking words and self-deceits fast slip away in bed
when senses run like watercolor 'til inside your head
a nonsense reigns where sky is ground and clouds grow from the weeds
and hot and cold are both contained inside some scattered seeds;
the local busker calls a crowd and reads from your memoirs,
and every lie you've told yourself is written in the stars.
The little filly told herself that nothing she could say
could win the love of those around. She sees now clear as day
inside a pond which can reflect nothing but the truth
a helpless still pathetic foal just as she was in youth.
But sister wasn't childish, and sister wasn't frail,
and sister got where she had got by fighting tooth and nail.
If wielding the Elements had given her the state,
her heart had shriveled from the curse of bearing heaven's weight.
Perhaps a streak of fear could bring about sweet Luna's fate.
The busker had long packed his case. The stars fell to the deep.
The pool of truth had given up on Luna, and to sleep
it fell. No light reflected off its surface made of glass,
but Luna still believed she saw more than the shriveled grass.
She saw (she thought) an image of her rightful throne and rule
where none except the fog around could take her for a fool.
The fog, the fog! It choked her breath and fell into her lungs;
her naive ear assaulting now it spoke to her in tongues
so low and sweet she could not hear. Thinking them her own,
she grinned, and laughed, and squeezed her heart 'til it became a stone.
The mare who woke was different than the mare who used to pace
around that room. Over her tears, a mask she wore, a face
to keep her treason hid away until the time was right
for arms and soldiers trading blows within the pitch-black night.
To power greater now she strained her entire being towards,
for sister fought with cowardice as shield, and friends as swords.
She raised the moon like any night, and just as she was told,
but ne'er again would it come down and give its bitter hold
back to the sun. So out she sneaks, the window, like a thief,
she uses over her front door for shame and disbelief.
"Oh, air!" she said. "Why did I stay away from your enchant?
The fireflies, the breeze, the birds! My duty to supplant
my sister works for good of all, not just a lucky few
who rule the day and are allowed exist in open view.
A thousand moons I've pondered this, and will a thousand more
if I don't take this time to lay the sun upon the floor."
So saying, off she galloped, jumping o'er the castle wall,
and winding down the mountain standing giant, proud, and tall;
the forests' secrets could not bring the end to her prologue,
and creeping 'round, she couldn't find her power in the bog.
Across the map she darted like a rat scared half to death
that squeaks, and flicks, and doubles back, and quickens in its breath.
While looking for a cluttered spot away from prying eyes,
so it can hide and puff its chest to look as twice its size.
Eventually she stood upon the border of a waste,
behind the green, forward the gray, and back and forth she paced
with itching fear of what's ahead like an unseen wall;
she told herself she'd do it then, but back again she'd crawl.
A prairie hawk watched hungrily. To end their morbid search,
four vultures eyed her patiently from on their gnarled perch.
The forest air was sweet as wine compared with bones and rot
but better drink foul liberty than sweetest fruit distraught
of self-control and caged of will. Her mind would be austere
to make itself prepared for rule and freedom's waters clear.
She staggered like a baby bird who fell out of her nest;
across the barren desert now the winds blew East and West.
They sliced like knives across her fur, but captured like a spell
she marched across the land of death, and in her ears the knell
of some far bell that rung aloud to signal someone lost,
but not for her. She shook her head and breathed in the exhaust
of war machines not manufactured in the time she was,
and saw a vision of a room filled with death and applause.
You tried to help, good Muse. You showed her what comes of the world
built on glories of the dead, and crowned the Underworld.
If Luna wins, eternal night and all the strife it brings
with foals clung close to mothers' chests and hearts that never sing;
but if Celestia should win, then despotism reigns
a thousand years of peace and love with those she hates in chains.
"Spare me this," said Luna, "even if you should be right,
and any way this battle ends about brings the long fight.
Then what? Should I sit calmly? Let her have her every way?
You think she'll let me stand with her and give me a true say?
And if she did, and if she gave me somewhere to have stood,
to compromise with tyrants is to forfeit what is good,
so no. I won't be begging her to let me make amends,
a shot at life is worth the cost of everypony's ends."
You left then, Muse, for nothing could have moved her stubborn heart.
She knew it all, but nonetheless, she wanted soon to start
her end. Alone she reached the horrid onyx cave: black snakes,
and mold, and darkened gems she beheld scattered by black lakes.
A perfect darkness closed about, but somehow light to see
a bright reflection standing tall and crowned in heraldry.
She gazed at her reflection, near forgetting it was she
until a voice inside her ear made whisper: "Stay with me.
Keep the dark, dear Luna, and let its presence make you whole."
Beguiled by the fog she let the Nightmare in her soul.
The first was chaos, pain, and fear that came into this world,
and Nightmare Moon felt all the same as time around her swirled.
She didn't know how long her muscles tore and reattached,
or if her teeth were different now as time and time they scratched
her gums and lips, drawing red, the taste of iron and salt.
Then all at once like stasis pain and whirling thoughts did cease,
and now the mare with blood-flecked grin felt finally peace.
She spread her wings and bolted out into the hazy blue,
and by her strength she flew up faster than she ever flew.
She felt so strong she knew at once that she had surely won,
with nothing but the smallest thought, her moon blocked out the sun
who rose in east. Though rising still, behind the barren moon
whose frigid light made glinted paths upon the sandy dunes.
The murky gloom of twilight had been brought to early day,
and in straight course the sun and moon were coupled in their way.
'til high above Equestria, the zeniths found anew
were locked in place, and nevermore they would descend from view.
Nightmare Moon had wished to feel some joy with this twilight
but murky grays and scattered hues were not eternal night.
No more than if the king of waves on beaches asked to be
as proud as if the whole green world were plunged into the sea.
Her eyes fixed north towards the woods Celestia and she
first found their rule within. She pushed dewy the air aside
and flew into the forest. Vultures hissed as she flew by;
she slightly slowed her pace and gazed upon the thing that died.
Its scattered flesh already had been strewn across the ground;
no markings were that told a soul what was the birds had found.
The bloody streaks left in the sand were gathered by the wind
while peck by peck its carcass ebbed. The vultures ever thinned.
Before poor Luna might have stopped awhile and mourned it there,
but Nightmare Moon was not so weak and quit without a care.
Through thistle, thick, and canopy she flew without a sound
until at her great castle doors she touched upon the ground.
The vines had choked the windows, thorny flowers climbed the walls,
the chittering of vermin things rebounded in the halls
as heard through cracks and skylight which (as new to this stone frame)
betrayed the grave dishonor that befell this house's name.
"The Castle of Two Sisters": fitting sister left this place
to be a god in Canterlot and wear a goddess face.
But if she wanted to rise to a place of light and mirth,
it's fitting Luna should become a princess of the earth.
So she tore up no flowers. She tore up not a sprig.
She dusted off her throne, and gave its base a myrtle twig.
A shout came from the outside and the door was opened wide.
"Luna!" cried Celestia. "Enough of this aside.
The crown we wear is burdensome, on me more than on you,
but trust me that I understand the want for every hue.
I was not always dappled with the dawn upon my wings,
I know you want to be the one to whom the ponies sing;
but you just aren't the body that the ponies can relate
to growth or fun or paradise, or to their blissful state.
You work behind the curtain now, let that suffice your need
to be the pony everyone gives thanks to in their deeds.
If rocky springs bring some comfort in the green,
it's only for the work of currents deep and yet unseen.
So envy not, my sister, otherwise your soul will fade
just like your own appearance into this one you have made."
"Keep quiet," growled Nightmare Moon, "before I rip your tongue
out of your mouth and have it taken, on a banner hung.
Perhaps the unseen current still deserves to have its due,
and maybe I deserve to have as much credit as you.
You see this wondrous sky we've made? This purple, gray, and red?
I think it's time the sun went down, or else it's time you're dead."
Celestia moved as to speak, but couldn't get the sound
out of her mouth before her sister lunged just like a hound
who smelling fear and doubt decides to leap upon its prey
that either stands its ground and dies or turns and runs away.
Her hoof fell on Celestia's bare neck and made her reel
back, coughing mucus on the stone. With weakness now revealed,
the Nightmare swung another hoof into her sister's side.
Celestia made motion as to run away and hide;
the Nightmare lunged and caught her wing and dragged her from the sky.
And mustering the strength to see a beast where she saw best,
a beam of yellow flew from her and struck the Nightmare's chest.
The Nightmare screamed at such a burn as boiling water thrown
then screamed again as on her wing she landed, and her bone
was pushed out of her skin and fur and in the air the white
of bone fell to the ground in splinters in the aching light.
She tried to move or speak but only lay in agony.
The Sun brought out the Elements and brandished them with plea:
"Oh, Luna, please just give this up." But only in reply,
the Nighmare spat a drop of blood and said, "I'd rather die."
Her sister sighed, and as the sun reclaimed the afternoon,
her sister in a blinding flash imprisoned in the moon.
Author's Note
I unknowingly had a couple lines in here that are echoes of lines from "Horatius at the Bridge", to give credit where credit is due. I didn't realize until my girlfriend pointed them out, but one such example is the quatrain on lines 90-93:
Eventually she stood upon the border of a waste,
behind the green, forward the gray, and back and forth she paced
with itching fear of what's ahead like an unseen wall;
she told herself she'd do it then, but back again she'd crawl.
The poem "Horatius at the Bridge" has a corresponding couplet 223-24:
Thrice looked he at the city; thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury, and thrice turned back in dread
