Bruise and bleeding
Weary and world-worn
She lets out a barbaric warcry
Piercing the cacophony
Of swords and shields
Shattered and broken
Exhausted and nearly exsanguinated
She hurls her sword into the bloody grass
Jamming the point
Rendering it useless
Dizzy and weakened
Breathless and voiceless
She falls to her knees
Allowing silent tears to cascade
Onto a bloody, chaotic battlefield
Agonized and aching
Bound and fettered
Curling like a babe in the womb
Washing away years of silence and shame
Her crown tumbles to the ground
As an eternity passes around her
Unnoticed, unseen, unheard.
Water alive and pure
Flows around her knees and feet.
As the crown floats to her waiting hands.
Fights not hers to fight
Leave her spent with frustration.
Where did the crown come from?
Who made it?
Memory fogged and order jolted
Hide the truth from her heart and mind.
Without knowing she cannot put it on again;
She dares not rise again
For the fight has been too long and too hard.
Time stands still
As she waits.
A cry in the night
Brings her back to her reality.
In this world
Her sword is her keyboard
And her shield is a well managed schedule.
Neither can fight the emptiness of modern life;
Nothing in this world is ever real.
She swings her feet to the floor
To walk the hall.
Knowing her crown will never come in this life,
She can only wait faithfully
For Abba to place it on her head in the next.