Home  |  Fiction  |  Poetry  |  References  |  Essays  |  Links  |  Recommendations  |  New

4K Illustration, Nick

At Issue

June 2000
last modified July 25, 2000

by Amy R.

The scene explored occurs in the first-season Forever Knight episode "Dead Issue."  Further disclaimers, citations and credits appear in the endnote of this Forever Knight fanfiction poem.


Tell us where he is, Mrs. Fiori.
        Tell us where your husband took the captain.
        Come on; I know you know where they are, Lynn.
And Stonetree's life hangs on that mystery.

I wish I could say, Mrs. Fiori,
        take your time; think it over; sleep on it.
        I wish I could be more compassionate
with your loyalty to his treachery.

I know that contradiction all too well,
        though I have to use my understanding
        to compel you to speak, countermanding
the silent prison in which we both dwell.

I can't share how I know your point of view --
        bound hand and heart to civilized evil,
        long losing hope of your soul's retrieval.
I can't say, I've worn those grim shackles, too.

You seduced Gubbins, Mrs. Fiori.
        You felt inferior, corrupt, worthless.
        You embraced the mantle of murderess
though guilty, instead, of adultery.

I cannot say aloud how well I know
        those same dark swamps of self-hatred and guilt
        where shame-haunted lusts mire hope like silt
choking the future in the long-ago.

Tonight, something changed, Mrs. Fiori.
        Something changed as you drove the Captain's car.
        You've broken your chains and lifted the bar;
you're here because of that discovery.

I can't reveal my epiphany --
        Sylvaine dead by his choice, but my own fault.
        Allowed love till my master called a halt,
I fully understood his tyranny.

Tell us where right now, Mrs. Fiori,
        or the captain's death will be on your head.
        Lynn, think about what you have defended.
Save yourself in saving Captain Stonetree.

And as you, in anguish, wield the pen
        to write the address where we have to go,
        I cannot tell you how time seems to slow,
watching that flaming stake strike home again.




Home  |  Fiction  |  Poetry  |  References  |  Essays  |  Links  |  Recommendations  |  New