Massacre
The pure whiteness of silky-soft hide is marred by
The scarlet of blood.
Blue, limpid pools of innocence,
Windows to the soul,
Are shadowed and haunted by the hacking of edged weapons.
Silver hooves beat the bloodied ground
And ivory horns pierce the air in panic.
Evil-eyed men descend upon
The embodiment of magical creation.
And the unicorns die by the hundreds.
Horns pierce flesh and hooves break bone
As the black, spiraling rage of the Lady
Smites the two-legged invaders.
The golden-haired witch with the ancient sapphire eyes
Calls in a debt.
Screams of anguish; cries of pain.
And the humans die by the hundreds.