Her Sword by Lady Portia

Her Sword
© Astrid de Manyet
the sun never shone on the stones
where the gates fell to that un-natural night
where haze entwined gravely
and claimed the child’s haven
breaking her
maiming her
there were a hundred happy lives
outside the gates, smiling freely
knowing laughter
while she died slowly
and dreamed a cemetery dance
on the knees of her passions
it is never naturally night
when the hour is noon
and the dead are alive
and the living are only half right
when they bury the living alive
in miserable houses they call love
and remedies
she had to be her own hero
because sometimes the ones
you think you can’t live without
can live just fine without you
lock you up and lose the key
and so she cut the sword loose
pulling it from the sheath
that was her own body
bleeding in the process but finally
F R E E
and severed the bonds
of thousands of lonely nights
strung together like the coagulated beads
of crimson blood gleaming around her neck
like a war trophy

she is the goddess of her own war