Not a pretty child
too big too tall too coarse
and her girlish heart all soft and warm
scuttled into an impenetrable tower
protected and hidden
death before dishonor
death before dependence
and the armor she wore was flimsy compared to the armor she shackled around her 
denying the goddess within her for cold steel and duty
until one look
one kingly glance melted a crack in the fortress
and clumsily and in secret 
she allowed her reclusive heart to warm 
to burn
and for the first time she did not despise the space between her thighs
only for a mayfly moment  
then the kingly glance glazed and emptied as he was felled
fallen before she could sacrifice herself
their single embrace the dance of death
and her trembling hands built the walls again
brick by solid brick
 strengthened and barbed with deepest sorrow
cemented by unshed tears



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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3 Responses to Brienne

  1. Wonderful! Love it! Blessings!

  2. redgladiola says:

    Nice ode to Brienne and nice to meet another GoT fan. =)

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