Bitter

pills

swallowed

down.

As the sun

Glistens down

upon the headless crown.

Her spirit still strong,

as the wind dries the

forgotten tears

only to carry them

to the Warriors below.

For there is nothing in her hand

she can bestow.

for comfort,

for peace,

for life,

or love,

security.

Simply Faith is granted.

Daggers pierce the skin,

of the paleness from with in.

As tears no longer form,

her heart is gone,

forlorn.

As the battle horn sounds

men rise

destined

bound.

By honour,

truth,

faith,

loyalty.

Much like her,

they see.

The battle is not

only to be free.

Avenging those

taken

beyond the quiet realm.

The war will begin,

over,

over,

and,

over

again.

As many will lay down their lives.

With out vanity or pride.

With simply the utterance of her lips.

Leaving family

not to die,

but to live.

The crown will disappear,

just as her mate upon the thorns.

Tears

creating the storm.

Her heart aches,

bones break,

death escapes.

In the meadow,

with silver and green encircling.

Her Warrior true,

upon which,

tender touches will nay

ensue.

The lifeless body

clinging to the grave of the

Warrior

of

Such

Great

Size.

The war begins,

with a simple wail

from her lips.

A battle cry,

while the sparrow flies,

thorns

puncture the skin,

draining the Maiden

as surely she nay

will

love again.

In the distance there is a mighty roar.

Rains Pour,

her pain cuts the earth to the core.

The crown now upon the head

of one who can not feel.

Her soul

That of the assassin

with the lust of blood meal.

Her heart will never be claimed.

For none will ever measure to what that Warrior could do.

He accepted her as

true.