by Mark

Drops of rain echoed dreams of travesty
Torturing the women from forest gardens
Gathering swords, they’re ready for savagery
To come. We won’t sing tales them as martyrs
Dieing in battle, but spectrums slicing swift
Taking in the prey like body ornaments
To hang off the trees sleeping by the rift.
These women wore precious jewels and garments
Ready to be adored by mindless attractors
Of women and men. Who give up their worth
And worry, while in servitude as bastards
counting out days till they lose their birth.
All is part of life for these teary eyed
Women who live with sword and shall not die.

by Him