Strength unveiled

In shadows cast by gilded wings,
a flame ignites, defiance sings.
No halo here, but embers glow,
illuminating depths below.
Beneath the skin of expectations,
a pulse of wild incantations.
She rises, phoenix from the ash,
eyes ablaze with lightning’s flash.

Thorns and velvet, iron and lace,
a labyrinth of grace and rage.
Masks discarded, truths unfurled,
what whispers haunt this hidden world?
In gardens wild and overgrown,
she carves a path uniquely her own.
No delicate flower, wilting, meek,
but roots that crack the earth they seek.

Siren’s call or warrior’s cry?
Echoes of a lullaby?
Beneath the surface, tempests churn,
passions smolder, secrets burn.
She dances on the razor’s edge,
between the shadows and the ledge.
In silence and in thunderous roar,
she writes her story, evermore.

They sought an angel, found instead
a woman crowned in flames of red.
No gentle whisper, but a shout
that shakes the heavens inside out.
In her, the cosmos and the clay,
the night’s embrace, the break of day.
A force of nature, uncontained,
by mortal bounds or gilded chains.

What blossoms when we’re unashamed?
When angels fall and devils reign?
She weaves a tapestry of might,
from threads of darkness, threads of light.
No simple tale of good or ill,
but complex hues that bend at will.
A masterpiece of shade and shine,
defying labels, blurring lines.

Beneath her skin, what scars reside,
from battles fought, from dreams denied?
Each mark a story, each a sign
of strength that refuses to decline.
She wears them proud, these hidden stars,
a constellation of her scars.
For in her wounds, she finds her power,
blooming fierce, a midnight flower.

They call her chaos, call her wild,
a force untamed, unreconciled.
But in her heart, a wisdom dwells,
of ancient truths and modern spells.
She walks between the worlds unseen,
both huntress fierce and forest queen.
In her, the sacred and profane
unite, dissolve, are born again.

What secrets lurk behind our eyes,
when masks fall off, when devils rise?
Perhaps it’s not in black and white,
but in the grey, we find our light.
For in the depths of her desire,
in embers of her inner fire,
lies truth that shatters and remakes
a strength that bends but never breaks.

In this vast expanse of possibility,
where do we draw the line of culpability?
When women rise beyond the tale that’s told,
what new stories will the future hold?