Thursday, August 24, 2006

Mistress of the Sword

What happens to a spirit
Surrounded by war,
With a heart always loyal
Being battered and tore?

It was never for battle
But for cherish and love
A heart made to teach
And the soul of a dove.

The hand that was fashioned
For beauty and grace
That now holds a sword
Showing scars you could trace.

The mind that was born
To put words into song,
Now lost in the memories
Of friends all long gone.

Eyes that were gifted
inspiration and truth,
Now dull with the pain
As the age replaced youth.

A lady born gently
Who once dreamed of a mate,
But lost softness to steel
In a sword-dancer’s fate.

But never forget
That buried down deep
Is a heart that still dreams
Of a love that will sweep.


Kenneth said...

I am continually humbled by the enormous talent of m’lady Isabella.

Kenneth said...

To put word to paper so gracefully… that even the angles would pause to read… Your most humble student.

Bella said...

You are most kind.