broken feet
on
broken glass,

broken heart
in
broken hands.


we were all
made

to be

broken;


but
some words are meant

to be inked,

not spoken.


I was made
to be spun

into stories
of steel,

legends half-real,


I was made in dragon fire,

in victory feasts
and a funeral pyre-


and

I was made for more

than sitting pretty
and poised, poison
next to
a wounded king-


for
chasing the
sun,

dancing

after battles
hard-won;


but even in
summer days,

you are summer days
older.


now with the silver in my hair

and
the sky on my shoulder -


I am slowly
finding

the stars are
heavy and

they are blinding,


old eyes.
old lies,

just
dust
now, and faded memories

of wishes long gone
and songs
the world has forgotten how to sing.