She encloses my good and frees my bitterness.
She vomits to beauty and indulges in Her self.
She is the cause.
She is the victim.
In chains, She keeps me…me.
What have I become, but that which is what She make me.
And I spill my soul to the wind as She cries back with a frozen answer.
“THEY WILL ONLY FORGET US! ”
I feel Her in my bones.
SHAKE! She makes me. SACRED! I stand.
naked.
vulnerable.
I (wish to,)
accept
my
defeat
and
lay
amongst
fallen
warriors.
Twelve feet below Her grasp.
Elle est gagnante.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a very nice poem, keep it up