Poem: Free Verse – “Melinda’s Battle.” #amwritingpoetry


Written awhile back and not entirely sure what I meant, but have edited and see what you think?


Credit: Xuan Nyguyen via Unsplash.


Peering above the clouds,

Her mane in chopped disarray;

Melinda takes a vow, as her eyes blink glassy grey.

The eagles circle round,

There caws thrill in the dawn.

And all across the ground,

Her body is adorned, trails Velveteen-rouge satin.

While the faeries sparkle, and their bright visions abound.

Melinda marches towards the sun scorching,

A peasant swathed in morning dew.

Satin trickling behind her feet, she’s drawn —

Down the steps wearing broken-in boots;

Her path unending in the circle of lust.

She didn’t choose a tyrants will,

She wasn’t given hers; and her terrifying experiences mean, Melinda will forever distrust.

Still, she keeps marching on,

A soldier in sequinned glory.

A dagger hid in her starched gown;

Her long sable locks adorned with roses.

And she can’t trust herself, her mind is a concrete cage;

She’s twisted, rusted —her silk gown small protection from menacing beasts;

A prowling force she battles with and makes livid.

But, Melinda never quits, she chooses not to give-in.

The beast lets up, but she knows she can’t an eternity win;

While her skin is marbled beauty, she’s haunted by grim creatures;

Everyday is a battle and she’s quaking,

Such carnage, a war not her choice.

There’s slaughter in her soul unmanaged, leaving her visage ruined;

Ruined as rouge lipstick dripping as blood,

Melinda nearly chokes slashed by the monster beside and the monster inside her.

Both destroy her, both leave her exhausted;

Her glassy grey eyes drop, and only tears froth.

Her pain too vivid, unconcealed, a dagger in her skirt no protection.

She’s worked years to climb a valley;

Then, life tossed her careening down a gorge.

Now, her words only linger in sadness;

She yearns to curse, throw glass —

She can’t think, she’s lost and never safe.

She’s become mere prey —fighting tears, fears, demons always.

Never mind tyrants who snuff out bursts of salvation’s light;

She’s caught in a nightmare, her mind astray;

A moment she fears will lock hopes door,

Then forever, melt the key, and she’ll never escape the circle;

But she might, for some wars are only figurative,

And she’s made of more steel than a carnivores tyrant and menacing literature.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.