The bandages are filling again with the crimson secrets I thought were dead.
The mended wings snap again under the pressure of weighted chains.
The weapons of old are sloughing their rust, crying to be unleashed once more
In anger and vengeance.
Before my eyes the reflection changes from one of peaceful warrior to one of vehement slayer.
Feeling the slip of muddy slope beneath my feet. Wanting the peace but an ache for the old violence, the catharsis of the knife awakens old wounds, spilling their secrets as the blood tears pour.