Warrior in chains

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem on the social standing and condition of women in all phases of life

Submitted: May 10, 2017

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Submitted: May 10, 2017

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She, who cloaks herself with the mist of unmasked whispers behind her back She, who at the epiphanic edge, hurls and descends into the sea of chaos To drag herself back up, bloodied and bruised with hands sooted in black She, who wears the mantle of punctuated uncertainty well And She, who quivers with her ache for heaven Only to shatter into a million shards whilst being dragged through hell Cursed to stay swathed in a shroud of concealment

She, A mask She, A slave

She, who secretly desires to be the moon to his wolf Yet is left ravaged in shadowed archways, under his snickering gaze To weep alone with scarred knees and fractured calves A mere conquest in the recesses of his mind She, whose heart is carved and gouged, sputtering in erratic beats And she, whose yearning to be craved as the ocean craves salt remains forsaken

She, a whore She, a wench

She, whose hiraeth is fated to be satiated ephemeral She, whose face is acclaimed ten times yet her soul remains to be spurned at every glance Oh, but her ecstasy would be incandescent in its manifestation The second she no longer bows her head, and see in the slivers of tomorrow and yesterday Her own worth, the measure of her strength, the weight of her wisdom and the luminescence of her eyes She, who will unveil her soul bare, and burn in breathless moments of elysian

She, an inferno She, an ember

She, whose whispers fade into the cruel silence of a raised hand But whose voice no longer will remain chocked, the chains will unravel, the thorns will part to reveal the rose She, who is the barren land where grew hope, wherein winds roared in fury, and her fire remains to be the thunder before the storm of her passion She, who will rise from the ashes of a chained heron, to unfurl her wings and weave the song of her soul To make the screams heard, the cries felt, and the blood sway to the rhythm of her scars And it will be her skies that reign, that will thrash and scream before sighing at the release of burdened dreams

Oh, she will part her lips and open her eyes; therein they will see the fires of heaven and the majesty of wolves

She, a warrior She, a queen


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