·˚ ༘ ➳〔the prophets all are cursed to see〕 ࿐ ࿔:🖇
She is hollow while she roams through the empty city,
Eyes as always open, seeing more than what is there to see,
Seeing over the Greeks, the swords, and all the death,
Advancing, no hesitation, through the war with each step.
She's no sheep, they can't lock her away this time,
Priam is not there, he is dead, blood dripping like wine,
She is prowling, euphoric in the glory of her prophecy
Because, oh, she was right, she was right and now she was free.
Trojans are going down in the flames they alone did start
By not listening to their brains, accepting gifts, drinking out their heart,
And, in the end, what good did that do to them?
The madwoman, the broken wolf, she is now at the helm.
Her smile is the grin of hunger, of someone ready to hunt —
Now, when there's no Troja, it is obvious what she could want —
Revenge; that wolf inside of her is howling after
The one that hurt her, his blood shall be her water.
Sadly, her sweet delight for long will not last
Because catching up with her is nothing but her past —
She will die slowly and alone, she knows she will,
But in death for her, there's just no longer a thrill.
What is the point to enjoy something you know
Would've happened before it did? There's no show...
Although that makes her feel less afraid of the Underworld's abyss...
She will greet death, Thanatos has never received such a sweet kiss m
CITEȘTI
Of sweet and sour - poetry book
Poetry...and maybe sometimes words and paper are enough to heal a wounded heart
