A broken warrior
Stares into the sun.
She’s a time borrower
Belonging to none.
Whilst her arms are like twigs
And she’s painted in bruises,
She ignores broken ribs
And denies all excuses.
She’s not scared by stories
For she’s the narrator
Not weighed down by worries
For she’s the dictator.
Ahead she sees mountains,
Distant and tall.
Behind her are people
Self conscious and small.
Her blind eyes are smiling,
Ears basking in silence
As she walks towards nature
And turns her back on the violence.
For too many years
She was dirt that they stepped on,
For too many tears
She’s the cloth that they wept on.
And now here she stands,
Overwhelmed by new power
That she holds in her hands
Like the root of a flower.
She once was a daisy
In love with romance
But her petals were stolen
For some strange song and dance.
And now she is blooming
Into a blood rose
She’s gorgeous, inviting,
Or so the tale goes.
Love her from a distance
But stay back, she warns
Her petals are powerful
And likewise her thorns.
After weaponless wars,
This girl grew her own
And now the ice thaws
This flower has grown.
A broken warrior
Looks into the sun.
She’s a time borrower
Belonging to none.
And after a thunderstorm
That’s drowned all the weak
That broken warrior
Stands on mountain peaks.
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