The warrior makes mark of her target as the swords clash around her and the blood drips down to the sullen ground.
She sees him,
The demon of her past.
Her bow is aimed for his heart.
She'll strike if he comes near.
She'll be the one to give him to death.
Why must there be so much gore to this tale;
One never really knows.
She is darkened,
Darkened by hateful bleakness.
He is utterly powerless.
Her gaze must render it that way.
Her crossbow is still aimed,
Her sword at her side.
She releases the arrow and it flies over his head and hits a nearby tree.
It was not merely a bad aim.
Realization of her power influenced by hate hit her,
Harder than any swords of war.
YOU ARE READING
Threads of Words
PoetryThese poems are simply my emotions. Most of these poems are fictionalized while some are loosely based upon my own experiences. I never thought that I would express my feelings and aspirations with anyone but myself. I surprised myself when I starte...
