Must I be the Goddess

Breathing in the beautiful chaos

Reserved uncharted yet exuding towards each withering rose 

"Is there hope?"

Simple she stands under the sky coloured in grey goose

The battlefield before her still bruising

Wars waging in every direction, waiting for fresh flesh and blood to wet

"Must I become the goddess?"

Unbequest her reflection halts momentarily to be caught up in drama-ed

Carefully curated spines of books

Shattered into voluptious hunger for possession and not for the brother

"She's lingering"

Perhaps only if someone noticed, how involved everywhere and there

A question flickers across the blade

Bloom and springtime often lead to growth and the birth from the fertile blood

"Is this the end?"

Of many of those unyielding that remain on their knees, now dead

Carved hopes in the hidden chambers

The heart continues beating as it flies across the air to join the battlefield

"May she rest in peace"

The puncture in her chest gaping heartless as she continues to be killed