the first; the moon;

water and winter;

the conflicted;

born to defeat and death,

born with chains and regrets and only a bleached-bone circular path to tread


She knew a granite face will hold no soul,
she would be lost once carved in empty stone,
yet she must walk, and play her honoured role,
and make a better world than ash and bone.
They thought she had a choice, they did not see
there always was but one- she might keep dreams,
the boy was life and laughter, but his bright plea
still fell on hearts too deadened for more screams.
She felt the statues' proud and lonely call,
she felt the ever-closer tread of death,
yet the world seemed deaf and blind, and she too small
to impress on them her doom, her failing breath.
Her path sundered, they fixed their winged white shroud
upon her arms- but finally she knows,
she sees their secret hearts- and she had bowed
her whole life to their lies, and so she chose:
she knows now love and sorrow; she must try
to conquer those, rather than blindly die.