Ultra-violent by Nancy AmesMedieval maidens military,
as morning masks the stars,
stand like sad soldiers, stationary,
or the minions of Mars.
Distant damsels do not dare
display a splash of splendour,
sisters of the solemn stare,
too tearful, tense, and tender.
Whispers widen windows who
demurely are disguising
glad golden glances almost too
seductive and surprising.
Like laughing lilacs, they long to
fly far above the flowers,
belatedly belonging to
some of the super-powers. 03/30/2008
Author's Note: This poem is about all those severe young women who are dedicated to causes but don't really understand aggression and secretly dream of homes and gardens.
Posted on 03/30/2008 Copyright © 2024 Nancy Ames
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