Dark hair covered, smooth tan skin,

an orange cord held to her heart,

she ambles down warswept streets

past debris and sewage

across fields and into a shop

busy with affluent citizens,

her purpose to take down

those who drove her family

from their land and lives,

whose well-equipped armies

and ever-expanding walls

consume while they kill

like feasting vampires.

The evil would not degrade her,

she would light a fire of hope,

light a martyr's fire

to open heaven's gates,

and hell's.

Next Poem: Our gods