The Maiden
| February 18, 2012 | Posted by Penguin under Beauty, Poems |
Still she sits in bare calmness
Hatred drowns in hollowness
Spare the sword, the roaring spiel
She dares not touch the cunning flames.
Tear the fortress, still she rises
Penned verses are sunken cries
Cripple her, still she rises
She braces today to quench her thirst.
She sealed vengeance in dusty grave
From rotten insanity she emerges
This maiden’s not yours to wield
She’s the master of her fate!
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