The Poem
He hears her
calling him softly
he has to hurry
he must make it
she is in trouble.
For why else?
Why else would she call?
He is a beast.
Her face is divine,
sculpted and chiseled,
her touch blossoms hope.
Hope?
Hope for what?
A new beginning?


So he can hurt her too?
No, no her touch is strong,
stronger than his bite.
It is easing, soothing any
lost soul.
Her flowers grow and grow
the petals sprouting from
his ferocious face.
It changes,
as does his spirit,
so he protects.
No.
She does not need protection. She protects.
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