5~*~*~*~*~*~Penelope was Odysseus's wife in the story the "Odyssey" by Homer. These are journal entries written by me *smiles* but from the perspective of Penelope after her husband is absent for twenty years, her son Telemachus is desperately searching in every place possible for his father and the suitors who want to marry the allegedly widowed ruler of Ithica(small island part of the Spartan empire) are reeking havoc and being generally disgraceful. Odysseus comes back disguised as a beggar and speaks with Penelope telling her that her husband is in fact alive. Afterward, He and his son, Telemachus, go bust butts(kill them) with the suitors who have been swindling the family fortune for twenty years, and even attempted to kill the young heir, meanwhile Penelope and her maidens are locked in their weaving room so they are not hurt. With the family name avenged, Odysseus comes to his wife, but she doesn't believe him. She mentions that they had moved the bed from her room into the hall for the stranger to sleep upon for she did not know him, and He gets mad because he had carved the bed out of a living tree and it had continued to grow. It was also so large that no man could move it but Odysseus himself. By this, Penelope knows it is her true lover and the two are reunited.-This was just a bit of background before you read the entries, for you might not have understood them. Enjoy and please r/r~*~*~*~*~*~
-Ink of tears. That is what you have left me with. So I use it to the best of my ability, wielding this quill with agility and competence, the words spilling as tears from the wounded depths of my mind. The thoughts and emotions of a lady, past nature's allotted prime, pay homage to this paper, delicately woven for wear. I, I the lady abandoned, have come to face my dear memories of you, so tall and handsome off to sail and conquer. I, I Penelope, the eternal companion of misery and evading hope that accompanies the impending night of gloom and profound despair, come to write my stance on your absence. I come to you in my own way in hopes to defeat for myself not a city of gold and plunder with silly tricks, but to defeat the overpowering doubts and worries that arise of your very existence. I come, please receive the words that I speak, though you may never see them, may the wind blow to you my longing.
The coarse scratching of the quill, peacock's plumage, sounds reverently about my chambers. A faint breeze brews, and giving little heed to the immense oaken door enters, bringing with it the scents of life. Life, that I never lived after you left. After, you Odysseus clambered aboard the massive ship of war; I had nothing to live for but the glimmer of anticipation on your return. Your beaming face, so aglow in its radiance, akin to that of deep eyes, glinting with adventure have haunted my nights. Nights cold and dreary, alone on the cold bed you crafted for the two of us to inhabit. Where is my Odysseus, that I might go forth and bear him out of the trouble that hinders him, may it be war, torture, confinement or alas your death. If it be that it is the great sleep, restless and wanting that obstructs your clear path home, then I shall seep into the land of the dead, kingdom of he underworld and plead for your life. I would go for you, my lover, if only to put my heart at ease.
Everyday in and out I sit in my chambers longing for the shouts of your return. That the suitors, endlessly striving might be driven out by your mighty hand, my lord. May the gods have pity on a lonely woman, but I have only heart for you. Weaving a thick thread of lies, a blanket of intricate design, I promised the pompous gaggle a choice of spouse when my blanket is finished. They readily agreed hoping I should cast away the completed work in a fortnight, yet in the hours of darkness I unweave the better half of two days work. So be it said that I loved you, even after death though the gods be heartless to separate us. Your heir is robbed of father and mentor, his life mingled with longing for something he has never known. On voyage after voyage he rides seeking from every source but high heaven your whereabouts. I dread the day he returns bearing upon himself the sad news and proof that you are truly dead, and so I had wanted to put and end to his searching. Only the peek of faith has allowed me the strength to see him off and back again, for his heart is bent on finding you. Tales are told of your feats and heroic battles in the battles with Troy, but I am eager to trade all of the glory that adorns your memory with news of your arrival to this land or the next, any news would put an end to my impending terror.
Tears again soak the page to relay all of this that has been plaguing my sleep and mind. May you be there, near me in the morning as the sun plays it happy rays along the glistening waters, paving for you the path home. Is my dream in vain, that my dear Odysseus be returned to me? That once again I may feel you near me, feel your strength and potency. Oh, I pray unto the gods that your lost soul is returned to me, me the wife of Misery and evading hopes.
-Another day, I write again, my penmanship blurred and shaky. Nerves are distressed and heart sore with worry. At my loom we, my ladies and I had sat in peace and tranquil normality. The spring air had breezed through the bay window at the far of the lady quarters and caressed our pale faces. Hope had befallen me for if just the moment as you had been spoken of as alive. My heart rejoiced within me and I longed to cry out. A rough appearing sort had taken refuge in my home, and with a quivering voice had but moments before spoken of You, my dear Odysseus as alive and well and on your way to me and Telelmachus. Informed me had he of the dangers you had faced, but always to comfort my anguish with a heroic escape from the perils. I, your wife forsaken, fell to my knees in thanks to the stranger, and not even now has a thread of doubt bore my the reality of the chances. You are well and I refuse to believe anything else. Do not call it ignorance, but blind faith and a sense that has gripped my heart ever since my soul bounded at the word.
Tear stained as I was and enveloped in fond memories of you, my lord, that I was not the first to hear the noise. My court ladies became frantic and sick with worry as shouts and rumbles and bellows could be heard from the dining hall. They brushed back thick ebony curls and listened at the door, abandoning their diligence at the looms. It was a change, and my conscience was in constant battling with my role in the confusion. My Lord, I had no intention of ruling, I had always you to govern me with a strong hand, warm to embrace me and steer my duties. Another brawl before the unruly suitors was out of mind as the ruckus grew to a launching roar. And what of me? Where was my son? Could it be that my first born, and fondness of my maturity was being murdered by thieving rascals of unmentionable means?
Standing as rigid as was possible and with the dignity set to position I emerged from the wanderings of my thoughts and trying the door found it locked, to my dismay and grief. My knees shook and the weight of so many years nearly toppled me. I ordered the court ladies back to the looms and paced pensively. The floor was cold, and it seeped through my adorned sandals edged with set stones. I watched them intently, such small feet, accustomed to physical luxury. With perfectly round toes, playfully young in the tricky sunlight, what form of feet were these for e ruler, capable and strong. My spirit sunk. With you so close for so little, I had weakened, now unable to even think.
Another crashing tore my attention away from the depressing mists of dreams into the agonizing world of reality. There was nothing I could have done, but futility was a nature of he circumstance, and not of me. I pray to the gods, if they harm my son, my only son, I will myself rain down upon them the wrath you yourself could have felt. You would have known what to do, Odysseus. But, I do not.
-Life had sped by as a child in the Tutwan countryside, my long ringlets of golden hair falling around my shoulders in freedom and ecstasy. Engulfed in a huge field of flower and faeries, I spent my childhood. Growing was not a part of life, but the journey that was life, yet I still did not notice that my innocent years were spent. My betrothal and marriage, our reign together was more then ever I could have imagined in my fantasy world of romanticism. The few seasons we were united were like a lifetime of indulgence and prosperity. Verve and energy sprung from the depths of my soul in every vast attempt at youth and vigor for your love. What then but twenty years of cold silence, to where my spirit was dead. My being deep in slumber, the fresh spark faded and drowned in my cries and tears. Agonizing minutes slowly amassed, sprinkled with little joy, but the youthful vigor in your son's face. Then, that too was dimmed in remorse for a lost soul never really tasted. Is it the cruelty of the gods that I await my death in hasty bliss and slow pain? Yet it was the gods whom have delivered you unto me in our golden age and so they may wrong again and never hear a word from me.
Past times in your arms are not forgotten and each one cherished above all passing time, hailed as a kiss let loose from gracious heaven. Your youth never spent as radiant as the brightest of all stars. Its beam cast in a milky hue, enticing in all of its exotic rarity. You are again home for the tasting of old age and my company. I had hoped for but news of you and then I hold my true Odysseus in the flesh. My heart resounds at every syllable your tongue holds, voice strong and mellow. Familiar love, beloved in your memory before now beheld in the glow of truth and reality, I ask of you nothing but your presence and soft word, kind and heart felt.
Oh, how I wailed the day you returned, falling to your knees, a lost babe as personal tidings and words were shared, secrets the light had not known. Once again I weep, but for joy. You have returned my dear Lord, Odysseus! I am your wife, no longer of despair and transparent dreams, but of you. Only for you.