Waikura

Without a choice, the fight came to her door
and fists frail, and bones brittle
with spirited force she battled
through jungles of tracheal tubes,
the tangled masses of venous lines and catheter vines,
I couldn’t breathe for awe,
She couldn’t breathe for
the fight had come to her door,
Drained, the blood red sun sinks low to rest,
And on she fights…
And fresh, the crisp blue hues of an icy dawn bites anew,
And on she fights…
Half my height, a quarter of my life,
Ten times my size,
A warrior in disguise.

 

 

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