The Warrior
A darkened wood near a turquoise sea
The voice of a warrior echoes through the trees
Past tree trunks awash with rivulets of grey brown bark
Particles drawn from the sun and the air, amassing on this skeletal framework
Racing in torrents to the ground.
The warrior calls out, a powerful voice, speaking her truth, Demanding her place
Threads of inordinate wisdom drawn from years beyond her existence
Threads slowly twisting together as time flows past her
I question! How can the threads of 18 years twist into a rope strong enough to silence one so alive, so passionate
And now, the woods are quiet
The chill of winter creeps inexorably in
The torrent from the sky to the ground beneath my feet will not slow
The warriors cry will not dim in my memory.
These words, inarticulate and mere background noise
Obscured by the sound of life flowing by
The warrior was loved
And
Now she is gone.