PHANTOM-CIZING
(A poetic tribute to the original story by Gaston Leroux,
prompted by seeing Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s Phantom of the Opera)
His name is Erik,
Though few who know
This name by which
Opera Phantom goes.
Not burned by acid
Or scorched by flame,
His face cadaverous
Born in shame.
For years he traveled,
A circus freak —
“‘The Living Skull,’
Dare you take a peek?”
Then found employment
In Persian land
As executioner
In demand.
The Punjab lasso,
His fatal noose.
Once he ensnared you,
No cutting loose.
An entertainer
With golden voice,
A trap-door master,
Sultana’s choice.
But ran afoul he
Of Sultan’s law.
Condemned to death,
He escaped its jaw
When Persian constable,
To repay
A debt to Erik,
Whisked him away.
He traveled far
Till he found a lair
Where could escape
From life’s prying stare.
Inside the walls
Of the Opera House,
Parisian spectre
None dared search out.
Each secret corridor,
Shaft and nook
Brought death to any
Who chanced to look.
A king in kingdom
None else desired,
Its darkest music
His soul inspired.
When needed an
Intermediary,
He chose as operative
Madame Giry.
With Opera managers
She conversed
Whatever Erik and
She’d rehearsed.
Invisible in
Box Number Five,
He watched with interest
Each opera live.
He seldom bothered
To interfere
Unless the music
Displeased his ear.
Through notes instructed,
“This must improve.”
And their obedience
It behooved.
Though “Opera Ghost”
Truly’d found his place,
Remained a prisoner
Of his face.
With fear and loathing
He’d learned to cope.
In love, no power
For him to hope.
But from this darkness
Where dwelt unseen,
Emerged he when
He first heard Christine.
An angel’s voice
He could not resist,
He sought through music
To make her his.
As her “instructor,”
He taught her well.
As opera diva
She’d soon excel.
Her soul and beauty
He must possess
As his in underworld
Wilderness.
Across his lake
Never warmed by sun,
Into his chambers
She’d finally come.
But curiosity
Made her ask,
“Why are you hiding
Behind this mask?”
“Your ‘Music Angel’
I shall remain
If from this answer
You can refrain.”
But repercussions
She couldn’t grasp,
So from behind him
The mask unclasped.
The horror never
Would she dispel —
The voice from heaven
Had face from hell!
She’d longed for father,
But found instead
A living corpse
With a skull for head.
Though now she feared him,
She still would sing.
So up to surface
Her he would bring.
But, lo, the managers
Cast her not.
So, angered, Erik
Devised a plot.
Through Madame Giry
This fate he warned.
But Opera managers
Laughed with scorn.
When they shunned Christine
At next premier,
He dropped on audience
Chandelier.
Though death just single,
The cost was great —
Now they’d incurred
Erik’s vengeful hate.
To worsen matters,
Christine had found
A childhood love
Who was now a Count.
In jealous rage
Erik schemed to steal
Christine from lover,
Her fate to seal.
So during opera
He dragged her down
To be his bride
Ever underground.
Upon the scene now
The Persian came,
One of the few
Who could Erik name.
He who’d once helped
The young Erik flee
Away from Sultan
And death decree.
Down through the dungeons
Where Erik lived,
The Count and Persian
Pursuit would give
With hands held high
Lest the Punjab rope
Become the collar
That killed their hope.
But stumbled they
Into Erik’s snare —
The torture chamber
That he’d built there.
The mirrored walls
With the iron tree —
A forest stretched
To infinity.
With Christine trapped
On the other side,
They felt the heat
That intensified.
Escape they couldn’t
Unless Christine
Agreed to marriage
With Erik fiend.
If she refused,
Then it was his ploy
Himself and Opera House
To destroy.
Explosion mighty
Would leave all dead,
And he and Christine
Would share death’s bed.
For love or pity,
We can’t be sure,
But she agreed
To his touch endure.
And when she kissed him
Of her free will,
No longer Erik
Had heart to kill.
Christine consented
To be his wife,
So Erik spared
Both his captives’ lives.
Once he had tasted
The love she gave,
He knew death beckoned
Him to his grave.
Now resurrected
With softened heart,
No more kept Christine
And Count apart.
Extracting promise
She would return,
He brought her home
To the love she yearned.
The Count and Christine
Would wed as one
As soon as she
Final task had done.
A few weeks later
When someone found
The corpse called Erik
Deep underground
With golden ring
On its finger bone,
The mystery only
To three was known:
The Count and Persian
Knew Christine brought
Back to poor Erik
Her ring he’d wrought.
Author Bio:
I am a Professional Engineer who has been writing poetry since 1990. I am an incorrigible rhymer, tending toward the skeptical/cynical regarding daily life. I have been fortunate to have been published in poetry magazines and on-line journals such as NUTHOUSE, MOTHER EARTH INTERNATIONAL, FEELINGS/POETS’ PAPER, MÖBIUS (when Jean Hull Herman published), PABLO LENNIS, MUSE OF FIRE, SO YOUNG!, THE AARDVARK ADVENTURER, POETIC LICENSE, THUMBPRINTS, UNLIKELY STORIES, BIBLIOPHILOS, FULLOSIA PRESS, NOMAD’S CHOIR, HIDDEN OAK, PABLO LENNIS, POETSESPRESSO, SOUL FOUNTAIN, WRITER’S JOURNAL, ATLANTIC PACIFIC PRESS, DERONDA REVIEW, LYRIC, THE STORYTELLER, WRITE ON! and DANA LITERARY SOCIETY.