The drums of life
beat rapidly,
as the Nymph polishes
her red velvet knife.

The black hearted army
of gargoyles
sharpen their nails
on the outlines of Hell.

Rumbling like a lion’s roar,
black clouds of trouble
float their way,
to this brand new day.

Lightning crashes
to the ground,
marking the sound
of War on Earth.

The grass ruptures,
lava erupts,
following a flow
of the Devil’s corrupt.

Our winged savior
swoops among the hordes
of cruel intentions,
studying their battle behavior.

Searching for a hole,
a flaw,
a way to erase
every last one of them all.

Quickly she sees
an opening
of flight,
and thus begins the Fight,

The blade
slices through
the leader’s masquerade.
Nothing evil is allowed to stay.

Wishing stars
crash from the world above,
flaming the trees
like God’s cigar.

The arrow of hydrogen
rips through
the monster’s face,
as done by a true ace.

The Nymph is knocked back
from the recoil
of the
imploding gargoyle.

Soaring through
a flaming forest,
unable to stop
and unlikely to drop.

Speed decreases,
falling increases,
wings inoperative,
laws of flight uncooperative.

A splash
as a little
angel lands
in the river.

The current
carries her along
to the waterfall
of endurance,

of imagination,
portals zapping
to any chosen
time location.

**

Eyes open,
here we are,
strange thunders
cracking from afar.

Men in green
uniforms and hats,
shocked and appalled,
wondering what the **** is that.

But not in her
native tongue,
Что трахание является этим
it more likely rung.

Broken from this daze of
Beautifulness,
they open fire on this pure
piece of mythology.

A shred
in her wing,
knocked down,
she cannot let this swing,

A glow of ominous
green mist
conjures in her palm;
our Nymph is quite ******.

A flick of the wrist,
the soldiers freeze
like stone, in fear,
as their souls tear

apart,
like a sheet
of paper:
incomplete.

**

The Nymph
walks this
newfound Earth
of mysteries and fallen lymph,

searching for
her own kind,
the ones she
had left behind.

A journey
that never ends;
everyday begins
like the day before.

The drums of life
beat slowly
as the Nymph polishes
her red velvet knife.

Off in the distance,
it isn’t clear.
Is it near?
She holds her breath,

and awaits the Elephant of Death.