My kind have been here longer than most.

We are warriors,

Nobility by deed.

Worshipped for our beauty and strength,

I’ve been painted on the wall

And sit at the feet of Hecate

As the keeper of the crossroads.

The scars that mar my body

Sing of my victories,

Shining through my coat like brushstrokes

As my feet thunder against the ground.

I feel the power of the earth

And draw it up through my feet into my soul until

I am alive

And hysterical.

My eyes pinpoint a hare

And I curl up in anticipation.


The power of the earth surges through me with every step,

Rolling off like waves of light in the north.

The hare runs fast,

But I am faster.

Other kinds may give up easily on this hunt,

But I enjoy the chase,

And the thrill of the challenge pulses through my veins.

Soon, I have overtaken the hare.

It wasn’t easy,

But I succeeded and proudly hold what others have sought after

And failed to obtain.

The hare is mine,

It becomes a part of me.

I am power.

I am respect.

I am intelligence.

And I am success.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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