Measure of Might
Proud and majestic against the night,
eyes still as the sea at the dawing of day.
The Queen in great armies measures her might
The Priestess commands the magical fae.
Bleached alabaster in contrast with black,
An iron hand upraised, steadily held high,
None can surmise that she may something lack,
Like Goddess she chooses who may live, who die.
Competent like steel, necesarilly rough,
Motionless she stands on the windswept shore
In every situation she knows what is enough,
Can this exterior hide something more...?
A lengthy thorn forever embedded within,
The only path to healing harshly denied.
Beyond her hardened, flawless skin
She once on another too heavily relied.
The point draws blood most everyday,
The inside floods with redness bright.
She does not flinch; steadfast she will stay,
Her pain unseen to the most gifted sight.
A heavy sigh is her only release,
Her trusted confidante, the rain,
Doomed to forever carry this disease,
Peace and calm skillfully she'll feign.
Will his hands ever reach in,
extract the thorn and set her free?
It would involve touching her skin,
Thus he will deny her most anguished plea.