She was just a girl,
Thrown
Into the stockades of womanhood
By a love scorned.
A blessing to a curse
In a blink of an eye.
What good is beauty
When no one is around to see it?
What good are powers
When you are powerless?
Powerless to the machinations of the Fates,
Powerless to the schemings of others,
Voice stripped away
Before she could even learn to use it.
“Beware of men bearing gifts.”
She whispers,
But to whom –
Her people
Or herself?
Trapped in the desolate wilderness of the mind
Still,
She hopes,
Prays,
For the day when the trust she craves
Will be placed in her,
For the day when pleading warnings
Will not fall on deaf ears.
But her tragedies do not define her.
Instead
She chooses to rise,
Above the strewn ashes
Of the city who should have listened.
Cassandra reaches for the sky,
Spurning the Fates,
And rips that wretched sun off of his pedestal.