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Woman The edge of my wit glints sharply, in the upturn of my lips; a sideways glance in passing, alludes to the knowledge of eons past, of lifetimes spent searching and promises as yet unspoken. These hands, calloused and rough, have called forth beings of ethreal beauty and deepest night alike, born through the siren call of my craft. I offer justice, delivered swift and true, for those who speak openly against me; but if instead, cold steel drives deeply between my shoulder blades, that wielding fool shall cease to exist; a bitter aftertaste in the succulence of my world. For I am a fierce creature; elegant and graceful, yet cunning and strong. I will not shatter at the slightest breath of contempt, nor stumble in the wake of defeat; I will continue my journey ever onward, savouring the richness of this life. |
Additional Notes:
This poem just 'happened' at 3am one day recently. I woke up form a very odd dream and this is what my pen produced. I'm not sure who it's about, if anyone, but I do that it has a female subject of some sort, which is why I chose the title.
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