Across the shore she stares,
taken with raging wind and a black devils heart.
For it is heavy, laden with soot and ash-
Yet encrusted with silver,
Beat and polished.
A fountain of foe before her hidden face,
with her widows breath,
Remembering a touch between her thighs
from the skin of her skin.
Flesh of her flesh,
Yes! For it is written.
No, for it is wrong to love the dead.
She stares with a heavy laid heart.
Looking at her family behind her lids,
Blood burned into oblivion.
She is a selfish creature to leave to fight,
with a devils mouth, and an angel's affair.
Thus containing the rust of life,
into perishable perforation;
She must continue,
until the day of adoration.
Blistered touch with memories of tikes.
A heavy heart with the army's wine,
She stares across the sea,
taking her rage, her hungry sword tasting the dark blood of her foes.