The Gem He Couldn’t Keep

He swept through marble halls like dusk on wing, With powdered plume and jeweled ring. A cockatoo in noble guise— With polished words and polished lies. They called him “Broker,” though none knew The tangled paths his talons flew. He wove the will of lords and lords, And turned their silence into swords. I sang for coin in candlelight, In galleries that drank the night. And he—so bright, so falsely warm— Became the calm before the storm. His laughter was a practiced art, He knew the shape of every heart. And mine, still bruised from love gone cold, Was eager for his wealth and hold. He fed me silk, and fur-lined gowns, He dressed me fit for kings and crowns. His gifts, like feathers, soft and white— But heavy with unspoken blight. He praised my eyes, my voice, my grace— But saw a jewel, not a face. He wore me as his final prize— A lovely song to drown the lies. In carven halls of glass and gold, He told me secrets, shrewd and bold. How bribes would twist the city’s spine— How justice danced along his line. I begged him once to turn aside, To trade deceit for truth and pride. But greed had grown too rich to starve— He would not heed, though I spoke hard. I loved him still, for what he was— A man of fire, with fatal flaws. And yet I knew—I could not stay, Not love a man who lost his way. So in the hush of velvet night, I left beneath the chand’liers’ light. No anger then, no tear, no scream— Just silence soft as dying dreams. A month went by—his wings were clipped, By blades no coin could ever tip. They found his ledgers, sealed in red— And took his voice, and then his head. Now when I hear a silver trill, Or see white feathers on a sill, I think of skies he never knew— And how a cage can glimmer too.