Only men who wield a sword
Could fight in a battle
And women were frightened
As they were seen as fragile
At home they stood still
And wished for strength
To be in the battle field
And their loved ones defend
Faith was in their heart
And peace in their scope
They held the last shards
With glimmers of hope
- Credit to the author.
The Graces of White
the women were known as.
Under the damnation of war
and fire, there was one sanctuary
they could retreat to.
A place of marble and ivory, of still
pools and nature.
Though all of them had the black stench
of fear, they stood in the still pools.
Orisons left their mouths under the gold
dust of this holy place
They were not like their counterparts.
They had no swords or arrows to wield.
They were not of the Dragonsouls.
They could not see themselves knee-deep
They clasped at the pearls.
A shaft of light appeared above them.
In body, the Graces of White were no Dragon
The shards of hope were in all, man, woman
Woman, feeble in body, glimmer of hope on
For they are the eyes of this hellish storm
- By me
This is something I had to do...
in a moment of weakness, I compromised my beliefs of being a wordsmith, and I never got over the guilt of it either. I won't deny or run from it. I surrender and own up to my mistake wholeheartedly because I want to start this page honestly. Only The Graces of White is mine. Now, this poem is my heartfelt apology to the writing craft, fellow poets as well as truth. This poem is my atonement, for I will never take for granted the power of the pen again.
I won't doubt myself or my belief in myself.
I really am sorry...