Piercing eyes scan the jungle.
A wounded heart.
A broken tribe.
Summon the sisters to move onward,
pressing onto enemy grounds.
The wind takes their breath away,
their bodies release anxiety..
the traps are set,
pounce at any moment.
No, only when the time is right.
camoflauged in browns and greens.
a deadly scene will display on this day..
Hearken the angel of judgment to deliver the slain.
A war between hooves and harlots will unfold..
these legends of old,
have been told.
carry through the ages,
through the young to wise old sages.
Aim for their knee, lest they shall buckle..
tend to the wounded with sweet honey suckle.
once high numbers from hundreds down to
hard to tell who lost,
and who had won.
There is no middle,
there is no end..
there is no beginning, only death..
to return again..to relive the gruesome events.
Poem was inspired by a Xena episode “Hooves and Harlots.”