A fan poem. It's the kind of spoilery that's just unintelligible unless you're already spoiled.

(I'm not sorry.)

Absolutetion

She claws her way up

out of the darkness,

arms shaking, hands aching

for something with which to strike

at this unaccustomed frailty-

my life for my dagger,

she braces herself against the ground

and pushes: decades of pent-up resolve

are only just enough

to drag her leaden limbs upright.

His back is the first thing she sees;

she does not think, but

shoves the prince of demons,

the pretender, the slave driver

who is himself a slave: he falls,

howling, below the deep.

(Even like this, she still has

her single-beat reaction time.)

Now, the deed done, she looks-

and her eyes fall on her,

the redheaded angel she had never

meant to leave behind,

carrying that gilded abomination

for the sake of which

she left her behind anyway.

Even though they are both in, 

as she would say, some really deep trouble,

they both

come clean.

They aren't out of that trouble yet,

of course. Her job is not

done. The lute yet survives.

But now she can yank her

old, trusty blade from her own

body, listen to her heartbeat

like the thunder that heralds

the storm of the century,

dance into the lashing rain

and take the final

stroke of lightning

to her chest:

she can let the thunder

drown itself in echoes

happily,

because her daughter has said

"I understand now"

and she knows

love

when she hears it.

************

Sorry if it's a little dark or sweary for your tastes, Admins. Tell me if you choose not to post it, please, so I can edit out the not-quite-child-friendly words.

I think I did it.

Admin

@Admin, I have this thing on my desk that I call my "poetry wall", so I was wondering if I could post a picture of it. Thanks! 

I think so, as long as it doesn't show your complete name or a photo of a person. I'll certainly check it out.

Admin

This was inspired by a poetry prompt- 'describe the sky right now', but I didn't stay on topic. 

before the storm

thirteen birds on a line, splitting the sky in two 

a barbed wire fence,

silhouetted dream orange evening

it is the color of a mushroom cloud,

without the fallout, if anything it's

radianting good vibes and lazy thoughts,

seemingly surreal,

so s l o w,

i can't think straight in muggy air

it's a pre-thunderstorm sunset,

i feel it, wind shaking the trees

and see it, the night clouds to the west,

and smell it, sharp ozone and

soon-to-be petrichor

who needs a weatherman when you can

tase the storm before it gets to you?

thirteen birds on a line,

taking off before the rain,

flying fast into a marmalade sky.