Her hands
purely stone

Tampered with
Irregular

And Cold
As the snow that falls on the soldiers of Russia

Her feet
Worked
humble

And meek
As a servant that cowers at the sight of his master

not a soul knows
Of her eyes

Eyes—unmet
commanding enough

to unravel

the anger that wraps the heart of man
the unreasonable thinking of bloodshed
the secrecy of peace of mind

she knows her rule
over man-kind

but
she won't use it
she’ll wait

for the day

for she lingers
not to be looked at
eye to eye

but
heart to heart