🌙 late night poem thinking 🌙

21

Here I stand, with the gem in my hand.
I look down on my fellows, high up in the sky but not too high to fly.
My two friends stand before me, ordering the positions for the war. And they must be thinking, "She is not our queen anymore."
I squeeze the gem, blood trickling down my hand.
And here I stand, silently crying. Just wishing we were kids again, and not dying.

11-9-2019