Voyage

 

Foot on a stormy road, path unsure

All she sees is bed of petals piled up

like a stack of bricks, lined up

thrones she foresees yet in memory of her serenity, she heads.

A soul of a sword,

fully aware of its chore

Standing in between the warriors

Fails and rises again,

Blades still being the same,

sharp enough to war against..

Years of her memoir, safely kept 

double keyed the door,

A promise to not look back, neither beyond.

She continues, with memorandum 

Her tomorrow follows.