Hurriedly, she ran with sharpened scissors
faced upright despite the premonitions
of rack and ruin, for noise in blizzards
is muffled and fails tried intermissions.
Through hail, rain, and scorching sun, she pressed firm,
while the world watched in utter amusement,
like fishermen tarrying to confirm
the silver sliver has endured torment.
Gladiator battling with Hope-sword,
teeth clenched, eyes bright, determined to conquer,
she grappled fierce Destiny's clutch toward
the crestfallen semblance in her mirror.
Alas, what is written in stone remains;
not blades, but glass pierced the defiant heart's veins.
No comments:
Post a Comment