Jeanne D' Arc

While a girl, I often had a vision to dine,
it revealed that I was the dove of Argo; thus,
I immobilised Sympligades to get through.

As a teenager, I saw the Archangel and saints
calling me on duty to set my homeland free.
I knew my wounds would be of purple colour,
for the purple of Charles' coronation.

Down the walls of Paris
I hear the First Voice:
Forget the wound, here comes the marvel.

Captured in Compiègne
I hear the Second Voice: Love your enemy,
offer him to drink from your water.

Condemned in Rouen
I hear the Third Voice: In fire
they descent you, on highs you will ascent.

I am consumed; not for kings and successors
but for France to fetch the Golden Fleece;
ideal Ifighenia looks after me at Kolhis.

In fire I pray for my candle to last,
as a homeland cypress I point to the sky,
with deep roots towards the deepest flame,
towards that unseen divine coolness.

poem by Joseph S. Josephides
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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