Tag Archives: Warrior
Proceed out of WinterDivine Self
Certain and truthful
Your divine self
Not a deity
But still so damn divine
Super and powerful
And superpower filled
Finally and fiercely
Shall step in
Save the day and declare
You’re an unwounded warrior
Don’t you know?
At The Bell
Fling that thing to the Moon
That thing that’s ailing you
Red flags, white flags, too
It’s not a day too soon
Let’s leave crazy to loons
Whose flightiness consumes
Consider this day new
Its call goes out to you
To sing the champion’s tune
Still Grieving
These why-natured questions no human has answered
Nor monsters willing, either
Invade my slumber
Nightmares, demanding I wash the dishes
Become thinner and wear clothes that aren’t mis-matched
Occupy mistress status
Keep me searching
Leaving me susceptible to sages insisting
A renaissance woman now, I ought dress for my inner warrior
The muse who I let be stolen
At 3am I harken her
A ghost now, still grieving for answers from man-shaped monsters — those captains who’ve abandoned the ship
She cannot answer back
Fruitful Be
Our story is not final, Yo
Our shame can take a seat
The last train car, in the back row
As Universe defeats
That rusted coupler is removed
By strength of warriors, we
Pain of ten lifetimes is soothed
Healed now, fruitful be
Double Helix
Mirrors and many things
Left behind
No longer serving to remind
All she disappeared into
It was a hollow
Worse than silence
Comes now each new day
A ringing out
In Chickadee song
So sweet, all I long for now
Is to hear her DNA daily
Feel her backbone & warrior call
Disappeared
I braved the elements for you
Chill and loneliness barefoot
Shoulders faint, but unafraid
Shield extended to cover you
Hunter and warrior I’ve been
Provider, defender I’ll be
Our roles reversed
Sacrificing me
You self-destructed a time ago
Your supernova has felled thee
My Orion
Whisperer: A Haiku
How you fought for me
Warrior, Peacemaker, You
With bloodied knuckles
In Sales
The left of my brain, omnipresent, churns in the background, planning to acquire real estate, shaking hands with all my synapses, as a snake, propagating the message, “don’t ask for too much.”
The whole of my heart, hope-trained, stands in the line of fire, clad in silvery full armor, bravely readying my skin, deflecting endless barbs of propaganda, imparting the beautiful truth, “I am her too much.”
