| From
the palace journeyed long
There is another heard the song.
Trauma? What of it? She has none:
Quest for power, just begun.
Discipline, training, serve the goal
Resolve the drive to make her whole.
She moves among subjugate, enemy, or dead
Miles and stones, she is ahead
And she kens that should she fall
Love hers, but no existence at all.
She hunts, she fights, she plots, in vain
Grooms and abandons potentials again.
One Ring, alive, in woman's shape
Praying for Boromir, she waits.
-
Her sons are on the run from
her for their lives. Her world is dying under her touch. The
chains she holds command more magic than her people have ever
known.
She comes home to share werp
juice with a ten-year-old. Or break flatbread with Qi, protegee
and lover.
She is Ua'lin. Murderer and mother,
defiler and savior.
Rapidograph pen and ink on paper,
5"x9" |
