you can tell a warrior by her eyes (a snapshot in greyscale)

she is posturing, her rage an

excuse and shaky definition, the

bottom line is dotted and it is fragile

it has the insult of good hair

it is a thieving liar, trailing

backward from the fulcrum

she is fighting with disgust on

her tongue, sweet or bitter, no one

will heed a bent archetype

in a rocking chair murmuring

“power thrives in unity” from

a mouth full of quiet wisdom,

while her fists are full

of fury and loathing

in the very center, beauty still knows

truth without her intrusion, hope

frames shadows on the wall as

gradients of pure grace, despite a

past, the future is rushing in, and

she is sick of this shit

© 10.10.2018 heather brager