Twisted words
Spill from your lips.
Crossed swords
Reside on your hips.
You sit like a lady,
With such poise
They treat you like a baby,
But they are mere toys.
You are strong,
They are weak.
They feel wronged
By the havoc you wreak.
You are the might,
The strong.
The right,
And the wrong.
So you uncross your swords,
Hang up your dress.
Let your twisted words
Embrace them in a deadly caress.
Those words,
Those twisted phrases,
More deadly than your swords,
For what you say amazes.
You tell them the truth,
Truths about themselves.
You give them proof,
Of the pain of sitting on the shelf.
You know everything they've ever done,
Everything they've ever said.
And once you've had all your fun,
They lie there shocked and dead.
(So, I know this is pretty weird, but it's a poem about a character I've been working on. Her name is Kira Nilam. In short, she is an assassin that uses a pair of swords and knows everything about her victims. By day, she's a model for a magazine about Victorian London. By night, she's a deadly killer. Look for my story about her. Thank you for reading this long winded Authors Note.)
YOU ARE READING
A book of poetry
PoetryThis is a bunch of poetry I either wrote or found. The ones with an asterisk (*) in the title are the ones I wrote. Any others I found. Please no stealing the ones I wrote and please don't criticize them too harshly. I did my best on them.
