The Bog Man Prince and the Butterfly Queen

STORY / POEM
ADULT THEMES: Greed / Abandonment / Violence / Lust / Grief / Sexual References

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Do you believe in fairytales? Here’s a story as old as the tale of “you” and “I”. A story some would say exists inside us as much as the pages on which it appears. A warning though: there’s no heroes here. And though it ends well enough, it’s not an easy read. There is violence and suffering and uncertainty. And death of sorts too. And like a smoky mirror its reflection can be difficult to define. But if you look hard enough, you will find it - beckoning within - whispering you awake. As only fairytales can.

Part One - The BOG MAN PRINCE
Non sunt tenebrae nisi ignorantia


1
Down in the marshes damp and cold,
Where the moss grows thick and the rocks grow old,
The bog man prince, if you know what I mean,
Has fallen in love with the butterfly queen.

The bog man prince stands seven feet tall,
A hell-bound heart with a hellhound’s call,
The prince is mighty but the prince is mean,
And he thinks he’s in love with the butterfly queen.

The butterfly queen lives high in a glade,
Far from the rivers where the bog men wade,
Hers is a beauty like you never have seen,
Tell you what I know about the butterfly queen.

In buttermilk skin shine eyes green gold,
Red hair flowing where her wings unfold,
A voice as gentle as a bubbling stream,
None seem fairer than the butterfly queen.

2
The bog man plotted a capricious plan,
To travel to the faraway butterfly land,
He broke and bent and battled his way,
To the heavenly heights where the butterflies play.

"I," said the prince in a vaunting tone,
"Shall add your beauty to the things I own."
And reaching up with an ironclad fist,
Snatched at the queen through the butterfly mist.

The queen looked down with a furtive glance,
Saw his hunger and seized her chance,
For versed in the ways of the hurt said she,
"First to the cross you must bear for me."

"There is a woman who lives in the west,
Bewitched by a power only gods possess.
Bring her to me so that I’ll be free,
And a bog man's wench you will make of me.

The bog man growled, the bog man hissed,
Driven by a pain he could not resist,
He crushed and cursed and trampled his way,
To the western wood where the wayward stray.


3
Into the forest the bog man swept,
The trees all trembled - the roses wept,
Stopped on the summit of a sacred mound,
Tell you all I know of what the bog man found.

The sordid sum of his dark desires,
Lips aflame with a thousand fires,
A sacred beauty, a lascivious dream, 
Gone was the memory of the butterfly queen.

“I,” yelled the prince darting swift and true,
“Shall take you away, make a wife of you.”
But quick was the witch of the western wood,
Planting the prince in the place he stood.

"Some grow wise, some grow weak,
Some grow blind to the things they seek,
Stand you will for a thousand days,
Alone with your anima and wanton ways."

The witch incanted, the bog man roared,
Reached for the scabbard of his bone-scarred sword,
But hard as his heart his limbs became,
Stiff like the statues of the gods he blamed.

4
For three long years the prince did dream,
A tapering root where his feet had been,
Down, down, down through the deep dark earth,
Down to the fount of his benighted birth.

Where all went silent and all went still.
Trapped with his arrogance and iron will,
Trapped with his wants, trapped with his fears,
Trapped with eternity for three long years.

And so it happened on the thousandth day,
A woodsman swinging came the bog man's way,
And seeing no fruit on the tree did grow,
Felled the prince with a single blow.

Bright as sunlight, dark as coal,
Cleaved in two, the bog man's soul,
Rose from the boughs of the twisted tree,
A portent mirror of his self to see.

"Who are you?" the bog man asked,
A broken spell, the die was cast,
Free as a leaf he fell once more,
Back to his body on the forest floor.

The woodsman bowed and broke his axe,
Went by the way of his inward tracks,
Leaving the bog man where he lay …
A fecund pile of sweet decay.

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… a fecund pile of sweet decay. So we too must leave the bog man - to rot … in what exactly? An emaciated ego? His own karmic residue? Or, maybe not. After all, doesn’t new life spring from fertile ground?

It is said that to be free a prisoner must first realise they’re in prison. It is also said that self-knowing makes an unfit slave. Read on and, like the bog man, you may find more questions than answers. But don’t be discouraged. As with all fairytales, sentences are but seeds - the fruits of which we harvest within.

Part Two - The BUTTERFLY QUEEN
Solum exitus est intus


5
She flew to the world in a moonbeam,
Borne on the light out of death. 
Was kissed on the lips by a solar eclipse,
The moment she took her first breath.

Her mother was met by an angel,
Who carried her soul under wing,
Back to that place of infinite grace,
Just where her daughter had been.

With no other siblings around her,
A father nowhere to be found,
This child of light, alone in the night,
Found herself orphanage-bound.

Where she’d learn to be ugly and distant,
To keep herself safe and unseen.
A bent buttercup, a heart filling up,
With loss where love should have been.


6
Till there came a well-meaning woman,
Who saw through her charcoal veneer.
And took her away to study and pray.
To learn a more genial fear.

And her beauty and etiquette flourished,
As her wounds languished and set.
Attracting the yen of limerent men,
Who’d take her for all they could get.

But all were revealed and rejected,
When a charlatan came on the make.
So clever his pitch, so handsome and rich,
His hand she was counselled to take.

So she married the hand she was proffered,
Not knowing to whom she had sworn.
The son of an earl who abandoned a girl,
Before she had even been born.

And he proved to be sullen and brittle,
A product of rancour and  pride.
Owned by his gold, indifferent and cold,
She fled from this hollowman’s side.

To wander the world in seclusion,
Her heart cocooned high on a shelf.
Unknown to yin, the starlight within,
Unknown to even herself.

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Wait a minute. Did I miss something there? Who was that man the butterfly queen married? And what’s a ‘more genial’ fear? I don’t know about you, but I don’t care much for riddles. Hopefully you are better at solving them than I.

But where were we? Oh yes … unknown to even herself …

7
Till one day she came to a forest,
As tight as the knot in her chest.
With all purpose gone, she stumbled upon,
The mythical witch of the west.

“Please,” she pled in her sorrow,
“This life is no reason to stay.
Grant me the means of angelic beings,
To carry this body away.”

And seeing how much she had suffered,
The witch cast a spell on the spot.
“Fly away love, fly like a dove.”
And wings were the means that she got.

And OH! to feel free and resplendent,
OH! to fly high in a glade,
Shining anew, without any clue,
The butterfly net she had made.

For time has its own way of teaching,
No matter what’s wanted or sought.
And over the years, in unexpressed tears,
She came to be tangled and caught.

8
“Why am I here?”, she raged.
Her brightness eclipsing to black.
With little to care for, to love, even fear for,
She cursed the two wings on her back.

So she waited for one who could reach her,
Then using her beauty as bait,
Incited his fire and fervent desire,
To bring her the means of escape.

And when he never returned,
Her soul not willing to wait,
She gently conceded to do what was needed,
To free herself from her own fate.

Pulling her wings out by hand,
She tumbled from Eden to earth.
Back through the branches of choices and chances,
Into the arms of rebirth.

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I wonder what you are thinking in this moment. It would seem all is lost for our two protagonists, and indeed it could be so. On one hand it would make for a good end don’t you think? Not all things finish well for those blinded by ambition and addicted to their desires. But what of the butterfly queen? Is she not innocent in all this? A victim of circumstance and the predilections of possessive men?

Should you take pleasure in dystopian outcomes you might wish to stop reading now. If, like me however, you find hopeless endings as dull as happily-ever-afters, read on. Behind the twin veils of delusion and denial, lies not just a restless world of yearning, entanglement, manipulation and dependency, but also a way: from chaos and confusion, to stillness and clarity, to remembrance and release.

Part Three - The BOG MAN PRINCE
and the BUTTERFLY QUEEN
Amor verus nihil desiderat

9
And so of a sort we reach two ends,
If ends are ever true,
For what are ends but fleeting states?
The squeaking hinge of parting gates?
A time to mend and gently tend,
To all that grows anew.

Three years it took for her to break,
A spell of deep unrest,
And with the grace of grief and time,
The healing heart and mending mind,
Came to wake and know to take,
Her wings back to the west.

And though there seemed no reason,
Since those wings were scarred and bowed,
And though the winter season,
Was still reaping what it sowed,
In strength she surfaced from her fall,
And as she answered her own call,
The ashes of a fallen prince,
Flared and gently glowed.

For each had found the answers.
To the questions they had asked,
Faced their ghosts and demons,
Transcended traumas past.
And as she made her wilding way,
From fortitude to grace,
A man arose from where he lay,
Unaware in many ways,
That where his shadow once had stood,
Love shone in its place.

<END>

NOTES:
From the Latin:
Non sunt tenebrae nisi ignorantia - There is no darkness but ignorance.
Solum exitus est intus - The only way out is in.
Amor verus nihil desiderat - True love desires nothing.

Hollowman (n):
(1) A person who outwardly presents as substantial or whole but lacks depth or inner substance. (2) Someone devoid of love, empathy and genuine connection. (3) An inauthentic or superficial person.

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