You tear at the lesser known path,
the jungle is yours,
and the stones that lay there mark,
everything in your favor;

You are the queen,
who has conquered this Earth,
and the planets align,
with the fruits of their labor;

You, destitute child,
loved and abandoned,
in the shadow of the eclipsed sky,
lay the remains of your fervor;

Your goings and comings are,
like the ripples on a pond,
the only thing constant,
is the brand of your maker;

Wear this crown and stalk your world,
your kingdom is on its knees,
you are a giant to appease,
watch, watch them all quiver;

Swallow them whole,
and spit out their bones,
avenge your soul,
make it known,
they house a traitor.

Carry the blunt blade
through chandelier heights,
make it shine, plummet,
watch his face fracture the mirror.

Spurts of red,
and blood stains,
crimson death,
not the only cost of such abject failure.

© soulreserve 2015

(For the PoetryRiot Prompt ‘Ripples on a Pond’)

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