Resting on the fingertips of ink-stained hope,
skin streaked with tears filled with fairy-dusted dreams,
heart pounding with a battle cry that wounds fear’s pride,
this is where she stood.
A love triangle of her potential, the devil, and the angel.
No matter the path she takes,
doom is waiting to envelop her in it’s twisted roots
and spit her out as if the earth did not carry what it needed to survive.
And the what ifs lay idly by gazing at the moons of yesteryear,
waiting to hear what happens next.
For she is written in prophecies,
a modern day goddess stricken with scars,
blessed to build her kingdom,
born to save people from their unfaithfulness to tomorrow,
planted to rise even after the lighting strikes
and fire reaches to burn her to ash.