I had never seen such a filtered gaze,
Bisected at first glance,
The pieces turned to stone and crashed,
At the feet of medusa and her bladed eyes,
Picturesque in umbers and ivories,
Every last look was lethal.
She held inside her many faces,
Brine more pure than any ocean,
Bound to float amidst the waves,
Beached those who would breach her depths,
Unaware of the reflecting constellations,
Poseidon coveted for more than Amphitrite.
Pharaonic glyphs carved in her flesh,
Buried within lost labyrinths,
Rested in your simple tomb,
Your insides pristine and as real as the rest,
Glaring red on your wrists and chest,
Raising those susceptible.
Little red slayer of wolves,
Was swallowed whole to rest in the warmth,
A tiger laced with stripes and stars,
Escaped and bushed the forest vermillion,
Under the hood laid a competent beast,
With cries and roars mistaken for melodies.
Heroines bow strung tight with riddles,
Quiver stocked full of cherubs tips,
Earned from the rich to pierce the poor,
And aimed with such precision,
Accepted the volley and crumbled at her feet,
The fortunate skewered in sentiment.
Riding or robin was never the question,
Regardless this maiden might kill me,
Guide me realms unknown by most,
And choose me to be slain,
The description of angel to modest,
This was a Valkyrie too sweet in her embrace.
No single myth could capture your story,
All these unimaginable things and more.