Apollo incendit mundum

Apollo incendit mundum

 

My soul lies wounded on the desolate wasteland of disregard.

The pain rips through my heart as a tornado through a long abandoned lumberyard.

The anguish of the casual scorn pressed upon my unsuspecting repute,

Hacks a trail of stinging, spinous misery which my brain can ne’er compute.

I flail within the turbulence that sweeps my bewilderment to an unbefore acquired height.

The abjection beats upon my breast as the breathing storm doth spit upon my plight.

I die within as all that I hold dear is subject to the ridicule of one who does not know best,

As I cannot seem to make him see or understand my very simple, uncomplicated request.

My honour weeps beneath the irate eye that incinerates it with derision and disdain,

Smarting from the shock that emanates from the gory wounds of outrage and of shame.

Until at last debased, demeaned and dead, it capitulates and hides within the shadows of the past.

Scorched beneath the unforgiving inferno, burnt to an ash upon the wind, I lie upon my bed aghast.

 

Warrior Princess