Three Acts of Poetry

Act I

At the apex of the crossroads, she waits,

the wayward wanderer, fighting winter’s embrace.

A warrioress, in the quiet shadows of the ice,

For warmth, shelter, and acceptance but

all she found was an endless black abyss;

void of warmth, love, and touch.

Running forth, she continued to brave the raging storm around her;

Weaponless, defenseless, she found herself dragged under,

Drowning under the torrent of cold and snow.

That vortex swallowing her whole;

And winter’s embrace dragged her further down until she felt like she may drown.

Then, a shaft of light appeared, answering the warrioress’s silent cry,

She was able to escape the frozen sea,

and she climbed to the surface once more.

Feeling the snow and ice inside of her heart, it began to melt,

Hope and light-filled her very essence,

Her soul, burdened and tired, stood strong and steadfast,

She reached for that light and that warmth.

Desperately reaching for that hope once more,

She journeyed forward, and fear made her heart tremble,

The cracking of bones on concrete,

Shattered, reformed again and again,

Forced to regenerate against her will,

the repercussions of her soul sending shockwaves to her core,

The flames burning her flesh alive,

Agony and agony over again,

An endless cycle she wished would end;

Is she worthy? Can she heal? What can she offer in exchange?

for such warmth, for sanctuary and shelter?

The words “I’m sorry” likely aren't enough.

But the wariorress wishes and yearns to touch the warmth, the light, the kindness, the radiance once again.

Maybe, hoping, praying;

she's worthy once and won't have to continue her sojourn alone.

The warmth of that hope made her continue her journey forward,

And the impending dream that the rest of the tale still might unfold.

Act II

However, the light left the material plane, and she was forced to continue her lone sojourn;

Across multiple planes that shift and crumble beneath the warrioress’s feet,

But she was instead met with lies and deception,

Unspoken shadows, faded into nothing.

Wisps of darkness, echoes of agony,

Unfurling beneath her feet until a tendril wraps around her throat,

Choking off her oxygen and her will to breathe,

Shattered, like her bones cracking,

Echoing, upon the shattered concrete.

The flawless lies, the twisted deceptions, and the empty words;

All tendrils of smoke, twirling into the open frozen air and collecting particles of dust

The intended promises left to transform, to burn;

To become gasoline poured out on a senseless, burning inferno.

Crystallizing the smoke and the burning gasoline into a wicked flame,

Imprisoned once by shadow, deception, and smoke, transforming once more.

Burned and all-consumed by the grimmest of lies,

The reverberate echoes of frozen tears, cries of agony, and broken promises;

Left to form a chilled chamber inside of the warrioress’s heart.

Act III

After a century of suspended slumber within her chamber,

In the emptiness of space between planes, worlds and time,

The warrioress awakens from her desolate grave

And arises with her scythe in hand,

Replacing the longsword she had once wielded.

Instead, her blade laid deep within the Earth,

Buried deep within a bed of rock and ice,

Left to form a deep chasm within the confines,

Lost to time and space, the blade transmuted to stone,

Forgotten and foreign.

Awoken from her slumber, the warrioress had forgotten her name,

Resurfaced once more to the cries of a female voice,

Telling her to “reclaim her power.”

The Awakening came at great cost and agile, steadfast and brutal transformation,

Burning away the parts of her that no longer belonged to her soul,

Free, unshackled and every battle sharpening her for battle and war.

The War always raged on throughout the centuries but this time,

Parts of her burned away, like the ashes of a Phoenix,

Transmuting to truth and arising victorious.

The previous battle scars inspiring strength,

The warrioress turned into a witch.

Returned from the dead and her magic churning through her being,

And the crossroads of the dark moon returning her home once more.

Awoken from her eternal slumber,

Darkness and the sounds of ravens follow within the witch’s footsteps,

Flames of fire licking along the edges of her Path,

A lantern held within her grasp and her magic forming stars, the past left to smoke,

The grave holds the corpse of her previous self,

Until she was one and the same,

Unified with her shadow and light once more.