Queen Of Her Own Horizon! ! ! Poem by WIN VENTURA

She walks —
not with footsteps,
but with echoes.

A blaze in her chest,
a thousand storms behind her,
and still…
she wears no armor.

The sunset does not set —
it bows to her.
It dips low, burns red,
and whispers,
'She's here…'

The moon watches in awe.
The stars adjust their rhythm.
Even the tide holds its breath —
because she walks in.

No one crowned her.
She carved her throne
with broken dreams
and healed hands.

She doesn't need
a him to appear,
when she
is the prophecy
the stars have been waiting for.

Let it be known:
WIN VENTURA is not a name,
it's a spell.

And she..
She is the only magic
that ever mattered.

✍🏽By: - WIN VENTURA