Kyra stood at the helm. Lights flickered around her, before her, as memories, slightly faded, just out of reach, each with a piece of her, speaking their peace.
I stand before nine souls
Each a piece of me
A piece of the whole
The fabric of our name
Colors speak of pain
Sound of doubt
And from the clear mind
I ask for compassion
Questions haunt me
With pike and dagger
They poke and pry
The tender shield of my nous
Words not spoken
Looks heavy with intent
I see them from
The edge of my cravenness
Time blends with space
Hearts beat with anger
I hold the reins
And my hands burn
My spine is locked
Breathing becomes difficult
The crew on my back
I carry them home
7 comments:
By the way, for the record, there was no intent for this to be poetry. :-D
Just random thoughts running through Kyra's mind as she is on the bridge and they are heading back directly into harm's way.
This, if nothing yet before, shows us why it is Kyra that is the leader. She faces not only the unknown of what the outcome will be, she also faces the very real possibility that she may in her decision put every one of those nine souls and her own in mortal danger, she faces and somehow this holds a greater weight that not everyone will understand the reasons behind her decision (even if they do succeed, a chance of that too). Her choice and that is all that she can control, the rest is hope, hope that they will make it, hope that they will be able to rescue Dr X and have Em's sight restored, but most of all hope that they will know. Her position means that she can make the decision, but only fate so to speak will determine the outcome. She is risking everything for love, in simplest terms.
In many ways, this is one of the few times we see Kyra naked, which is to say, standing alone at the helm, having made a decision that is not popular, a decision upon which the weight is on her shoulders alone.
The music sings. :-) Another in a line, amazing work tonight, my gosh, I could just kiss you at just how wonderful these are, but especially the fact that they have poured out of you in what must be very quick succession. I've not finished, but you wrote your very own 'album' tonight, a story within the story. Touched beyond words at this point, and I have more to go. :-)
You know, my pants are already at my ankles. :-D
who drew that sketch? Its beautiful!
colors speak of pain/ sound of doubt...what perfect allusions! so also the imagery of words not spoken heavy with intent!
Time blends with space/ heart beats with anger/ I hold the reins/ and my hands burn...beautiful!
so is the image of 'locked spine' as she carries them home...the beast of burden...
Mona, the sketch is mine. Thanks for the kind words. :-)
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