▲ 19 r/Poem
Finding out.
She is the ballad that the voiceless sing,
The jagged edge of a raven’s wing.
She is the nectar brewed in a chalice of gold,
A story of fire that’s never been told.
She’s the hallowed hush of a winter’s night,
A blinding dark and a searing light.
With lips of honey and a heart of stone,
She sits on a high and haunted throne.
She is the riddle the wind cannot sigh,
The burning depth of a violet eye.
What she is.
A holy relic or a cursed design or
A demonic grace or a spark divine?
u/legal_Jump_1938 — 8 days ago