My Ancestors Say... (ON HOLD)

Venice

VENICE

We danced our youth in a dreamed of city,  

Venice, paradise, proud and pretty,  

We lived for love and lust and beauty, Pleasure then our only duty.  

Floating them twixt heaven and Earth And drunk on plenties blessed mirth  

We thought ourselves eternal then,  

Our glory sealed by God's own pen.  

But paradise, we found is always frail, Against man's fear will always fail.

My name is Veronika Lynn, I am a poet and a dreamer, a dancer and life liver. I live in the House of Kingston with my mother, my father, my best friend Kathleen, and my two brothers, Edgar and Jon. Oh yes, and we live on a waterfront villa in the heart of Venice. In these days, I am filled with romance and art, beauty and spirit..oh yeah, and so is Venice... 

The late morning sun warmed my skin and shone through the sheer curtains of my room. A breeze blew through my room, catching my curtains and sending them fluttering. I myself was still asleep, hair spread over my pillow and arms tucked neatly under the bed sheets. 

My peaceful slumber would not last though, Kathleen came running into my room. 

"Veronika! Oh Veronika, do wake up!" She insists. 

I let out a delicate moan and turn onto my stomach. 

"Veronika, please!" 

My balcony windows are flung open to fully expose my ears to the sounds of the streets of Venice. 

I stifle a yawn as I sit up, "Why are you waking me, Kathy? Couldn't whatever it is wait until later?" 

She tosses me a golden apple, "Its time you got up anyway. But I did happen to see Anthony wandering around here earlier." 

My plump lips form a smile. 

"Am I wrong to be assuming he was searching for you?" 

I toss the apple back to her, "My dear, dear, Kathy." I giggle as I rush behind my room divider and pull on a white cotton nightgown, "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." 

I step out with my long brown hair tied back by an emerald ribbon. 

"Veronika," She laughs. 

"What? A girl can never have to many friends." I joked-sort of. 

Kathy sat behind my easle to examine my latest drawing of still life, a man's palm resting open on top of the thick bed covers. 

"Do you intend to marry him?" She asks while smoothing some of the rough charcole lines of my drawing. 

I pluck a large golden apple from my fruit bowl and stroll out onto the balcony. I rest my right elbow on the railing and place my chin into my palm. 

"I intend to marry Venice." I reply before biting into the golden apple. 

Even without Kathleen's silence, I knew that my response had been a dangerous one. Venice was filled with love, legal or illegal, bought or sold, won or stolen, wanted or not. It held soul and wonder, each time walking down the streets was like the first, the parties we were drunk on, filled with frivolous acts of art and immortalism. We are all immortal, gods living in a dream to good to be true, to true to be fake. All around me art was lain out. The way the sun shone off the river was impossible to catch yet I constantly dared to try. The archetecture of the vast churches and villas, perfectly sculpted by our craftsmen. The people beautiful in each and their own way, a way that Michelangelo could not capture. 

"Veronika!" A male voice pulls me out of my daydream. 

I look down at the river to see Anthony standing in the midst of a ship, amongst friends. 

I give him a small smile. 

"Oh fair, beautiful, maiden," He calls out, around him his friends laugh at his poetisisim, "How I wish that I were a glove upon thy hand. A hand so soft, so delicate. A glove I wish to be, to be graced with the touch of thy cheek." 

I laugh with his friends. 

"Ah, sir, you flatter me," I mock swoon. 

"Favor me, dear Veronika, with one of your rhymes then." His smile reaches to the corners of his eyes, crinkling his tanned flesh. 

"My lord, upon thy word." I curtsy, "A glove on thee, I wuld ne'er want to be. Thy cheek, I do not seek, like other women who are so weak." 

His friends break out into uncontrolable guffawing, but his eyes twinkle at the challenge. 

I bite into the apple again, this time juice fills my mouth and slips down the corner of my mouth. 

His boat starts moving away, but his gaze never leaves mine. 

"Farewell, Veronika. At the festival is a dance I seek, if you do not deam me so meek." 

"You would I deam? At all if only in a dream." I call at him. 

"To be in thy dream," He swoons on deck, "Lady, I have been struck by cupids bow!" 

And with that he is gone around the corner. 

I smile mischeviously and then run back into my room. I fly down the two marble stairs and across the room to my large oak desk where I take out paper and a quill. 

"So you don't like him, hmm?" Kathy asks still from behind my easle. 

My response is the scratching of the quill against aged parchment. 

"Well, like you said, rather, implied, its obvious that he shows no care for you." She continues. 

I continued scribling a poem. A poem with likenesses between Anthony and Venice. I could have my beloved city and a man, couldn't I?

...Venice, paradise, proud and pretty, We lived for love and lust and beauty, Pleasure then our only duty... 

-Veronika