The Lady of Shalott

Lady of Shalott

The Lady of Shalott

I have never felt the world outside. Never experienced the wonder that lies outside my chamber of solitude. I cannot go, I can never reveal myself to the earth. It is a beautiful world, and I am not worthy to be a part of it. It is too bright, too pure, too lovely, for my dark, sinful, ugly soul to be cast upon it. I am grateful however, for I can see the world, a paled version of it, through my looking glass. The glass reveals the world outside, and through it I can see. The river, as it tumbles through, laughing, uncaring, and free, past tree and rock and fern, to someplace I will never know. How I wish I was part of the river! But I am not worthy. The sky, gentle but strong in all its shades, sometimes angry, sometimes mild, looking over all, seeing all. How I wish I were part of the sky! But I am not worthy. The trees, the reeds, who whisper secrets left by the wind, who hear all and know all. How I wish I were one of them! But I am not worthy. And the people. Them I love the most. There are many of them, and I have grown to know them all. From the little girls who skip past my lonely tower, laughing and skipping and singing, to the maidens of the verge of adulthood who link arms and whisper secrets, to the spinsters, old and grey, who tell wonderful tales of the world (some of them speak of me, of the Lady of Shalott). From the little boys who laugh and play and romp, to the carefree youths who vow to one day become knights, and the time-tested gentlemen who tell them there is more to knighthood than glory, that heroism comes with a word of pain and regret (the boys shrug this off with all the brashness of youth). I watch them celebrate, and I watch them suffer. I watch them love and I watch them lose what they have loved. A funeral for a beloved friend. How I wish I could wipe the teary eyes, kneel before the lost one's grave! But I am not worthy. A birthday, a wedding, a ceremony. How I wish I could join in the revels, dance and laugh until I ache! But I am not worthy. Two lovers, stealing away in the darkness of the night. In the day they are forbidden to meet, but the night belongs to them. How my arms ache for another's soft touch, and my ears yearn for loving words. But I am not worthy. I must sit at this cursed loom, weaving everything I see, capturing this perfect world. I am the Lady of Shalott.