Poetry in Motion
            by Nymph Du Pave

            Chapter Nine: The End

           The 'aaaws' from the crowd rang out as Lex shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked over to Lana, sitting with Whitney and Nell.  How was this going to go over?  Would she blush in embarrassment and hide behind her boyfriend who nullified the friendship between him and Clark in order to protect his girlfriend's honor?  Or would she be sensible and run to Clark, wrap her arms and legs around him and never let him see the light of another human's love?

           If Clark Kent wrote a poem for me, he thought, but couldn't find words to finish the concept.  That kind of possibility was an abstraction from normal life, some fantastic reverie to sing himself to sleep with.  It had no place in reality where the words of the real could hurt and cut and scar so deeply.  He was normally out of place in real life, but today and every minute since Clark let Lex massage him, since he fell asleep on his shoulder, pushed his face invitingly into Lex's lap…  Ever since he cared enough to tell Lex that a farmboy's love and affection, if not adulation and passion, was directed towards him…  Him, a spoiled little brat who'd spent so much time in business meetings, stoned or in jail that he'd forgotten what a friendly face looked like until the angel had pulled him from his own personal Nile.

           And all he wanted was for that angel to fall.

           Clark grinned and his cherry-cheek tint turned a deeper hue.  "It's a little long, and there's no real beat."

           "Did you even hear mine?" called Nell cheerfully from the corner.  "I wrote about the flower shop for crying out loud."  Everyone laughed.  "You don't need to explain anything."

           Clark gave Nell a warm smile.  He'd have to remember to get her some chocolates.  Godiva, her favorites.

           He turned back to the microphone wondering, when he read it out loud, if he'd have the guts to meet Lex's eyes and let the older boy know just who this was for.

           "Okay.  Clichéd title.  Uh, 'My Fallen Angel'."

           He saw Lex frown and felt the butterflies break loose from their cocoons.  The word 'fallen' couldn't in anyway be related to Lana and he even managed to catch surprised looks from most everyone else in the Talon.  Surprised or confused because everyone in high school- thanks to Whitney's over-protectiveness- knew that Clark loved Lana and that Lana was as pure and sweet and sugary as they came.

            So far, so good.  Though he had not even considered the crowd when he write this, he had hoped when he titled it that the first rousing of 'wait a minute, this doesn't really fit lil' mis Lang' would begin stirring in Lex's brain straight from the beginning.

           And it very obviously had.

           "Alrighty then."  He smiled, felt another blush coming on and looked down at his feet.  Since the last person to use the mike was Lana, it was right under his mouth.

           "You are the one," he started softly.
           "that the angels let go.
           Their tentative jealousy,
           of the unconfined beauty,
           you walked and breathed,
           could not be allowed."

           He would have to look at Lex soon.

           "It wrecked their heavens,
           and turned them inside out.
           Your perfection was the flaw,
           too many angels fell for.
           They could live without you,
           but not without their sin."

           He looked up into the crowd to gain courage, saw surprised faces.  It wasn't Whitman, but it was his little masterpiece and it looked like a few people were enjoying it.

           "So to purge themselves," he began, the expressions of others listening giving him courage.
           "of this too mortal emotion,
           they sent you here,
           and ravaged your soul.
           Demolished your ability
           to love and care and see."

           He looked at Chloe and Pete.  There was a grin on Chloe's face… and a frown on Pete's.  He was very worried about this next verse and, only when writing it, had he realized that, simplified, Lana and Lex's earlier lives were very much the same.

           "To give themselves peace
           they shattered your youth,
           ripped away those you loved.
           Scarlet down tonsured, sheared,
           and yet, even, with this unadorned mien
           they could not pilfer your splendor."

           He looked at Lana and Whitney and Nell.  Whitney knew Clark would not ruin the friendship they had established, knew this was not about Lana so the quietly surprised shock registering on his face, instead of hate or anger, made sense.  Nell looked contemplative.  She always looked contemplative.  Lana looked like she was trying to figure the mystery out.

           "Your elegance retained,
           and your heart remained,
           hidden in the depths,
           of a cavern few could see."

           He paused and finally had the guts to look at Lex.  The expression was one of pure misery and self-worthlessness, which made everything fit.  His heart, his poem, his love.  And the rest of his current verse and his next verse.

           "But I know you're there," he said softer than he'd meant.
           "I know you feel me."

           Lex looked away, blushing and fidgeting with a napkin under the table.  Clark only became more ardent in his need for Lex to understand.

           "You think I don't see,
           your grandeur inside,
           the sleek want for love,
            the nights you have cried.
            My arms are here for you,
            and your soul is the key."

            He kept his eyes on Lex but the boy refused to look up.  The next verse could easily be confused for Lana's life.

            If only he'd look at me.

            "The sad fame you pull behind you,
            mars the mirrors that you view.
            Your pale skin is flawless,
            never showing the cuts,
            old and pale, new and harsh,
            that disfigure the face of your soul."

            Lex rubbed his forehead and shifted left and right in his chair.  Something was wrong.  This was not how it was supposed to go.  What was wrong with Lex.  Was the poem not distinctive enough?

            "Please extend your hand," he continued, his voice wobbly, his heart on edge.
            "with its crimson tips.
            For of you I'm not afraid.
            You're a golden halo,
            around my life."

            He swallowed.

            "It's time you showed me your love."

            This was where things in the poem became even less poetry and more emotion.  He was nervous because when he wrote it was for the words not the rhyme.  He'd never liked free-form poetry before he'd done this, but now he respected the hell out of it.

            "Your pain glows in every cavern,
            and your soul bleeds to the ground.
            Does heaven have the power,
            to wash away an angel's blood?
            Even one it threw out because it
            defied original perfection?"

            Lex was still not looking at him, and so he looked to his feet realizing that he might not be able to deliver his love through the poem after all.  His chicken-shit way out had failed.  He might actually have to tell Lex.

            "Let me do what I can, love," he said slowly, almost quietly.
            "to take away your wounds."

            His eyes watered up a bit because the next part had taken a part of him deeper then all of the rest.  It was cliched, but there was new meaning in it for him.

            "You make me feel human each day.
            A thing I cannot ever be.
            You let me feel like I'm the same as you.
            But me show you what I truly am."

            "I open up the front doors now,
            and your sad face plunders my reserve.
            Please let me make you happy,
            and give you what you deserve.
            I want to give love to you and,
            remove the life you've had."

            He breathed in as Lex reached for his beeper, used his hearing and sight to confirm that it was, indeed, off.  Lex was going to use business as an excuse to run from his poem.

            "So bring me down," Clark sped up as this was the last verse.
            "if down is where you are.
            I'll travel to the end.
            Love you, hold you.
            My whole life is there,
            to make sure you will mend."

            He stepped away from the microphone to signify the end of his poem.  Lana, Whitney, Nell and Chloe all stood up to applaud him, as did a few farmers he knew and some kids from high school he recognized.  The football team followed Whitney's lead and the cheerleader followed the football players.

            Through the warmth and applause, Clark saw two things that worried and scared him.  One was Lex leaving the Talon in a rush, not even bothering to look at him, gripping hi beeper in his left hand.

            The other was Pete, glaring at him with the most hurt and sorrow filled eyes he'd ever seen.