The Legend of Troy

What is she? A legend. Truth itself beholden in these eyes as searing fire.

Were she to be held accountable for that fey life which is her own, she would as readily burn in the deepest depths of hell

Her eyes, otherworldly, joyful and innocent embraced the world, and in that embrace managed to dash warships against the rocks, swords against each other, men’s hearts against themselves

Her life a ransom for the opening of a new box, a Pandora all her own, simply in the quiver of a lip, in the hint of a smile, in her scent carried for miles on a passing breeze

Sunset and sun bleached bones cannot contain the reality of her, she is denser, her eyes like emerald fires embrace with velvet draped steel, that comforts all the same.

She sings with all of nature, and there is an eternal procession that accompanies her rhythms, she dances within the very space of her standing still, motionless she is all the motion necessary, and every wild hair caught in the wind passing across her smiling face is a reminder of the beauty of that which is untamed.

She drifts between this reality and another, between this life and the place where the everything becomes the every when. She reminds me of time, and space, of the interaction between us, it’s electric, even in silence.

She has ascended to view the battlements and her face is set like a stone against the pursuing captors, and humble foolish Paris does not recognize when Achilles comes. She sets her eyes like fire upon those who would try to catch her.

Diana is her guardian and Artemis her sister.

She is not to be tamed, not to be subdued by mere tokens, her eyes have known bloodshed, insanity and war, it will take something different, something more. What it is, I do not pretend to know.

She has courage, and watches as they dash themselves against the stones and turn themselves upon each other in frantic orgiastic violence. What were she to do should their fates befall her visage?

How were she to return again, without a second Troy to burn?

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