Her curves,
soft skin,
the seduction of youth.
A valkyries body
that beguiles.
A woman,
that makes a man,
crazed enough
to kill.
Yet unlike,
all the others,
with their short dresses
and
perfect breasts,
with imperfect
minds.
Her soul is older.
Eyes,
that have seen
both too much
and
too little.
Bared witness
to the best
and worst
the world can offer.
So like all those
with the clarity
of introspection
and the curse
of intelligence,
comes the tribulation
and burden
of pains raw
clarity.
A rage and
empathy,
incongruent,
without end.
Forever fighting against
a deep melancholy,
a sense of
fatalism,
coveting
a fantasia for hope.
Battling demons
within and without.
Searching,
inward,
outward,
for a connection.
Forever yearning
for a grace
a peace
always elusive.
So, she continues
to fight.
Though she wields
her body
as a weapon,
in truth,
it is her shield.
For she yearns
for a reprieve.
Battle weary,
longing
for the sanctity
of a merciful love.