Tremble

Shaky fingers clinging

To the silver sword she’s wielding

Etching lines of poetry

Precision and uncertainty

 

Killing off her enemy

With handwritten calligraphy

Sketched her weapon back and forth

Guiltiness without remorse

 

Her blade all wet and sticky

And all her stanzas dripping

She sees the lines begin to dry

Her verses bloodied on her thigh

Reviews

[emipoemi]

Powerfully profound! Started out as one image, which then surprises us to be a brilliantly crafted metaphor. Awesome!!

[Inkh(e)art]

Ah, Thank you so much!