Summary: Voldemort reflects on his fading human condition. He exposes his innermost thoughts, such as his life in the orphanage, his feelings toward his parents, his regrets, and the origin of his hatred toward those who love and are loved. The poem does not inspire pity of Voldemort, but rather a new understanding of his human side.
Categories: Poetry Characters: None
Warnings: Book 7 Disregarded, Character Death
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 299
Read: 1898
Published: 05/04/08
Updated: 05/08/08
Story Notes:
This poem portrays the weak, human side of Voldemort. Some might consider the fact that Voldemort is made to have a human side in this poem to be OOC-ness, but the Dark Lord could not feel hatred, anger, or sadness if he were not human.
1. I Am Just by undesirable_number1
I Am Just by undesirable_number1
Author's Notes:
Meet the human, fragile side of the Dark Lord. This poem is written from Voldemort's perspective. It portrays Voldemort as an emotional paradox - he is both evil and regretful, angry at the world yet still longing for companionship, arrogant and ashamed of himself, great and pathetic, human and nonhuman, living yet nonliving.
I am just an injured raven
Whose silky, black wings
Were broken ere
I could attempt to fly
Away from here.
Unable to reach the sky,
I found softening darkness,
A veil that obscures unkind reality,
To be closer to my desperate touch;
Therefore I cherished the night
With obsessive love so much
That my desire for flight
Dwindled to a faint glow
Behind my unseeing eyes.
Soon even that vestige of warmth died,
Without a gush of blood or a last ragged breath,
As I hardened inside
And my heart met death.
I am just an orphaned child,
Given no love by a weak mother
Who found shelter in never ceasing slumber,
While I remained in this sordid place,
Full of trials that encumber
And devoid of any subtle grace.
Nor did I receive tenderness
From a filthy Muggle father,
Who left me with naught
But his wretched name,
Whom I for so long sought
To in blood drown his shame.
Still cradling my box of stolen treasures,
I feel forlorn and rejected,
For my only companion, loyal and true,
Cannot give words nor embrace
Since it is but a stick of yew,
Lacking outstretched arms and a warm face.
I am just a stoic wanderer,
Unsure of which path is mine to follow.
My own mouth’s words I struggle to believe;
My eyes, confused and manic,
Independently search for what could relieve
Me of this constant panic.
My face refuses to reveal
This uncertainty that plagues me.
If only others knew
That each murderous act
I always come to rue
For my soul remains intact!
Though seemingly fragmented, broken,
And scattered is my spirit,
Residing within me are a soul and will.
Regret, mourn, and feel I must
For I am human still –
But only just.
End Notes:
Thanks so much for reading! This is my second poem written for MNFF, so I'm still a poet-in-training. Please review so that I can learn from the best!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.