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.