From behind closed doors, she came out in a fury.
Long ago and deep down the sparks flew,
they stood close as she sat high on her black horse.
Jumping down with purpose and climbing
one step at time with legacy, knowledge, and future rewards.
Revenge has come not to wait under the suns and moons.
The skies are filled with ancient maps.
Echoes that cry and shout from beyond the invisible line,
a homecoming of sorts, she yearns for victory.
It is she who sits in front of followers,
order in her hand, ready to make the beginning sound.
Steady and commanding in all circumstances,
she is similar to those before.
That woman was my sister and my blood from
a broken wing that healed.
When the closed door opens, the sparks will be
blinding and instead of one black horse,
there will be too many to count.
pisaries.blog 