Ode to Jeanne D’Arc

Casie Turrell

READING TIME: 2 MINUTES

Bailey Young/The Baron

Stained glass, silver, and stone.  

Built upon the blood bathed fields of France. 

I am kneeling at the feat of her sword-dance. 

The audacious, defiant, and discordant Joan.  

 

A chapel built for mankind to atone. 

Daughter of Mary, mother of Éowyn, and sister of lady chance. 

Beating in her chest no heart but a pure silver lance. 

Strong and brutish, gorgeous like a blue roan.  

 

A bright star to split the darkness of the night. 

With victory she sent the English running at Patay. 

She lived to clash her blade another day. 

The beautiful, faithful, and illustrious knight.  

 

Her victories at Reims and Orléans 

Could not save her from a shrewd and jealous man.  

She met defeat at Compiègne’s besieged land. 

Damned to die by the pig Cauchon. 

 

She met her fate with head held high on 

Shoulders that carried the weight of France. 

When He embraced her, all His eminence 

She knelt before and stared upon in awe.  

 

A bright star to split the darkness of the night. 

How can one weigh 

The deeds so brave 

Of the excellent, holy, and tempestuous knight?  

 

Burned for the land where she was grown, 

The rose’s thorns draw blood with sick romance 

But the holly berry’s poison far advanced 

The seeds of sweet rebellion she had sewn.  

 

Though later she was exonerated by God’s earthly throne 

She died a criminal, alone surrounded by sycophants.  

The Pope held her memory, her legacy, in his hands.  

He called her a saint, but this much was already known.  

 

A bright start to split the darkness of the night.  

A woman to whom women pray.  

Who carried Charles’s coat of arms de Domrémy, Jeanne d'Ay. 

The ethereal, autonomous, and martyred knight.  

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