She Is The Wound And The Sword

She was always loyal to the stars, regardless

She knows they’ve lost her precious dreams,

Still she’d gift them with her utmost secrets

Left on their doorstep within their light beams.

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She would only present this wonderful offering

On those nights when the full moon would shine,

Feeling the risk was minimised in the moonlight

Allowing her dreams to be made up of the divine.

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I get the feeling she doesn’t understand her role

She doesn’t belong here on this earthly plane,

She struggles now and has grown terribly weary

Of the wanting of people and the world’s insane.

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She was force fed their beliefs, day in, day out

Ultimately she choked on their horrid accusations,

Until she’s convinced she’s the very definition of sin

They had her believing she was a total mutation.

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I watched in horror as they left her with nothing

I feel she no longer believed she deserved to live,

My heart broke on her behalf as she stumbled

Wishing I’d abundant confidence for her to give.

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Still through all that torture, if she had it to give

She would gift it to those in need, at her expense,

Giving all of herself until she was an empty vessel

Almost resulting in her becoming a past tense.

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I know she was weary, tired and totally worn out

Because I could often hear her wounded cries,

Her screams of agony constantly haunts my soul

And I hope with all that, this will not be her demise.

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Then one day I come upon her, her head held high

As she wept to the stars, confessing in her heart,

Begging them for forgiveness as she feels blame

For how they treated her when the moon was dark.

***

She quietly whispers so only the stars and I can hear

“I am not what I seem. I am the wound you can see,

And I am also the sword that caused that deep gash

As I search and fight for my wings they’d cut from me.”

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Originally posted on Medium