The Valkryie
God is good to everyone; so when you love, be in love.
Said to me a Sable Hoplite in mottled clothes; guarding the memoir of his dead wife in Boston’s subway transit.
Robbing a pedestrian of a moment's time as he did from banks for fiat claims and capital climbs via violent crimes.
He intimidates the hive mind as well as mine, but we are receptive.
Like all under the devil's thumb, we wish to traverse the red wall.
I look to my side and see a cherub evolving into a matron of unworldly skies.
Her will soars like a whirlwind sword that scores the fabric of time.
She fosters the orphaned spirit and walks the literal and figuratively blind through their valley of darkness.
Her and I are vagrant and lost like nomads; but we find homage in one another.
Attracting like covalent and ionic bonds.
She’s an eclectic electric Aryan blonde with the constellation Pleiades in the lines of her palm.
The lines are in cursive and those who read and heed its words will hear the echo of the Celestine.
The Valkyrie, oh so cunning and keen; so intent to take me to Valhalla.
She passively leads the Liberation Army; to their respective terminals and posts.
As if to intervene.
Co-collectively, they carry the virtue of a justified rebellion in the form of a military coup.
Encouraged to face the truth even in her absence, a man finds he must transmute.
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