qasa'id

ICHOR SPILLS [...]

"
before

she has a voice made for revolution

and she wears it like a mask.

it has a defensive edge -

an armour made of hardened ichor

immortal and everlasting

like the gods it was drawn from.

but even gods are conquered.

look at ouranus, slain by his own son - kronos, likewise

and if (when) her voice breaks

it is by her own right hand

words like hammers,

welding and melting metal

until it pools on the ground like her tears.
during

she has limbs made to move you

and hands crafted for war

callouses mark her palms

(here and there, this and that)

and her fingertips like points on a map.

sometimes they are stained

with so much blood and grime,

she can no longer tell whose it is

for when you've been at war this long,

when you've lost as much of your person as she has,

the only real war is with yourself,

between choice and conscious -

close your eyes and this will swallow you whole.

after

she has a smile made for victory

and eyes that live past wars -

they are the blue of the sky after a storm.
they have none of the naivete of the inexperienced

but none of the cruelty of the broken,

none of their desperation.

she looks to you and all you see

is oceanwater, deep and all-encompassing,

not the deceiving surface or the unforgiving depths,

but the life of it, the crashing of every wave

a million lifetimes you have never lived -

a million lifetimes you want to live.

and you run to her.

"
- ICHOR SPILLS FROM HER AS IT DOES FROM THE GODS

[alternatively entitled: "clarere, audere, gaudere"]

[though she may be vicious and mean, though she may spite at times, she will always be yours in those moments of softness and gentleness and she will lay down her sword for you. she was born a weapon, destructive by nature, but she places herself in your hands and lets you shape her again so don't fail her trust. and though war tears people apart, know that she will be yours and you will be hers.]