Upon Reflection

That somehow there would be a price to pay

I did not doubt; that in some future hour

I might regret the bargain that we struck

seemed not unlikely. Yet I nonetheless

drew blood as you instructed, raised my thumb,

and pressed it to your own, the glass between

as winter to the touch. So long ago.

So long ago, and yet you have not changed,

nor I; for such was our agreement – such

the miracle for which I was prepared

to pay an unnamed fee. Had I but known

what now I know... But that way madness lies.

In truth, I courted ignorance; indeed,
I bade you hold your tongue when you began

with pity in your eyes to name the cost

which through that bloody rite I had incurred,

afraid lest, hearing it, I should repent

the covenant before our mingled blood

had even dried – afraid lest I should grow

to hate the gift that I had thus received

before its benefits had been enjoyed.

O would that I had harkened! But alas

I turned away from you, and you from me,

and, for my part, I straightway sought my friends

and with them celebrated through the night,

though silent of the reason for my joy.

True friends indeed were they. And yet not such

the latter-day companions who in time

replaced them as they one by one succumbed

to sickness, age and death. For whereas those

whom thus I lost had blessed me with the gift

of fellowship for fondness of myself,

not one of their successors saw beyond

the specious beauty of my timeless face,

but fawned and flattered in the foolish hope

that, having won my favour, they themselves

might learn the means whereby I had received

eternal youth. From time to time I think

that granting them their wish would be no more

in truth than they deserve. For though at first

I dreaded that the cost of endless life

would prove some future torment of the flesh,

their sycophancy taught me my mistake –

to live forever is itself a curse.

And so I stand once more before your frame,

my heart immune now to your silvered tongue.

And see! I raise the very knife wherewith

my blood was spilt in that unholy pact,

and since I see that you are likewise armed,

I bid you join me in a dance of shards.

***

Thomas Sudell is a graduate of Oxford University (2015) where he studied English with a speciality in Old English (Anglo-Saxon). His poetry has recently appeared in Littoral Magazine and Areopagus Magazine with further work forthcoming in Briefly Zine, Eternal Haunted Summer and Carmina Magazine. Thomas will also be among the contributors to Graveside Press' 2025 Illustrated Poetry Anthology. A complete list of his publications may be found at www.thomassudell.com.