Yah! What power have the clouds to vanquish
souls upon the earth?
Are we but specks in your illusion,
mites to torment in your mirth?
No! I will not be your plaything!
Boil storm before my wrath
and let your godforsaken walls ring,
we dare tread upon your path.
Winds are howling in the morning,
lightning rips apart the night.
I refuse to be your plaything!
I will stand strong, I will fight!
Where is the warrior now? Lost to the passage of time. Lost to the habit of time. Lost in the murk of time, in the everyday. Where is the warrior now? Hidden underneath. Held down underneath. Imprisoned underneath.
Where is the warrior now? Her strength sapped and gone, her conviction waned and gone, her spirit sunken and gone. Where is the warrior now? Uprooted and hung out to dry; red soil, harsh sun, blue sky; weird walls, green water, blue sky; thin sky, no sky, wide sky.
Where is the warrior now? She is wandering lost in the desert, seeing the rainforest in shadowed plastic, feeling the cool touch of grass on her skin in a memory fading before the blazing heat.
Where is the warrior now? She is here but has lost her tongue, she is present but has misplaced her strength, she has let her will to fight die, withered by the miles she travelled, forgotten.