Her fragility was always the fore-front,
branded incapable by the incessant lots,
never did they know the turbulence,
that she passed through once and once more.
A curse set by the age old,
eyes tinted by biased remarks,
her body had scars and bruises,
of fights that were known to the dark.
That heart pumped with a vigor,
those fingers adept with swords,
a spine that can fight the mountains,
eyes like the midnight stars.
Impossible it is to change the men,
impossible is to find the lost city,
histories has lied again and again,
the truth is always buried beneath.
Yet look around and one finds,
those delicate and dainty minds,
chained are storms and surges,
inside a cage of diamond glass.