The lady with golden hair...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Ok...this is a poem inspired by Lucrezia Borgia,a dark but very interesting character of the Italian Renaissance,member of the Borgia family,known for her beauty and alleged crimes as well as for many scandalous rumours.More about her can be found in Wikipedia.Her character has always fascinated me,and so,I tried a critical but romantic look into her mind.
I tried to be historically accurate,but her story is very controversial,so if you find facts that you know as fictitious,sorry,not my fault.

The fine lady with golden hair,

Let her companions drinking and feasting in the lightened room,

And searched a few moments of solitude in the dark balcony.


There,she let the night breeze of Rome caress her beautiful face,

And smelled the scents carried from far away,

Trying to relax her heated body and calm her troubled mind.


It wasn’t the first time she was spending herself like this,

Celebrating with people meaningless and vain,

That not even typically could be called her friends.


She was used to this since she was a little girl,

Lost in the whirlwind of laughter and words of love,

Surrounded by the admiration of men and the bitter envy of women.


She was always dressed in the finest clothes and jewels,

And the fine wine flowed like water in the glasses of her company,

Every night she could choose a different lover if she wanted-and she often did.


She had convinced herself that this was the powerful’s privilege.

That she was actually helping her family like this,

By extracting secrets with her sensual voice and golden hair.


And when they asked these from her,she always agreed,

Because she was a proud descendant of a feared lineage,

And for these reasons,nothing less was expected from her.


But if she wanted to be sincere with herself,

She would confess that,helping the males of her family like this,

Wasn’t really that hard for her to do…


But tonight,she felt a urge to go deeper,

And,caressing the golden stream of her hair,

She asked herself for the first time what she had gotten herself into.


No law of binding meant something for her,

She had been married so many times with men whom she barely knew,

No devotion or faith from their side-or from hers.


And she had given birth to many children,

Whom she didn’t even know mostly,

Not like a mother knows and loves her childen.


And she was enjoying her short youth to the fullest,

With nameless loves,and pearls and vanity,

Choosing not to hear the voices who condemned her.


But now,this calm Roman night,

Away from the superficial talks of her companions,

She realized for the first time that the thing had gotten out of control.


Rumours were crossing the whole country,

Rumours of obscenity and betrayal and fear,

That made the ordinary men crossing themselves in disbelief.


Rumours of enemies found murdered in the streets at night,

And of men in red robes bought off,

And of princes who were killed and their country was being taken over.


They were rumours of poison,and unholy embraces,

Before the innocent eyes of the Virgin,

That were often choked in blood and fire.


And,remembering these rumours and these stories,

Mentally hearing the fiery preaching of a murdered monk in Florence,

She felt for the first time a chill running down in her spine.


Because she asked herself what did the glowing gaze

Of the man who had given life to her,the tutor of Holy Church,

Everytime that fell on her mean.


And the touching,far more intimate than it should be,

In the dark halls when they danced together,

Of the dark prodigy,her brother,the praised as The Prince,what did it mean?


And for the first time she understood,that her own blood,

the rulers of Rome,had defied all of the rules of man and God,

In order to acquire the power they longed for.


And that she,the jewel of her corrupted city,

Had helped them to succeed their goals,

Pretending not to know-while she knew very well.


And at that time,she saw herself before the Judgment,

And her velvet skin froze at once,

As she felt her deeds weighting in her soul and not letting her rise to the light.


And for a moment,the scented breeze of Rome,

Took the sweet scent of cantarella,

And then the visions disappeared,letting her alone in the darkness.


And the golden-haired lady hastily left the dark balcony,

And returned to the laughter and words and feasting of her companions,

Feeling safer in the warm light that was bathing the room.


And she forgot the revelations and visions of the darkness,

Or at least she tried to do so,

Choosing the fake ignorance and unconcern to ease her troubled mind,

The easy way to deal with herself…

Submitted: November 29, 2009

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Add Your Comments:


Vincey Delaney

This is a vivid, dainty piece, a wonderful keepsake for that certain time. Well done, thanks for a special moment!!!

Mon, December 21st, 2009 10:58pm


Thank you for reading!

Tue, December 22nd, 2009 9:07am

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