When she parts her lips
The sound that comes out
Cannot be described as a scream
There is no fear, no weakness
No cracks or unraveling threads
Her lips pull back from her teeth
As her voice carries
And shakes the rolling hills
And you realize her battlecry
No longer even sounds human
Behind her lies a moonlit field
Of men skewered through either
Throat or heart by her silver arrows
She trails blood with each grounding step
And fury sets her sharp hunter's eyes aflame
And even though you know she favors you
You tremble at the goddess regardless
You cannot tear your eyes away
To bend before Artemis is an instinct
So deep that it cannot be denied
YOU ARE READING
Inkblood Poetry
PoetryPoetry is the most efficient way for me to express things, even when I can't define it in a way that makes sense. And I think that's the beautiful thing about it - that poetry doesn't even need to be defined. It just exists.
