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A Ginger Moment

April 27, 2014

Ginger Warrior

You know she didn’t care,

As, she looked passed the moon lit mountains.

Moon light danced upon her back,

And, then her dress fell.

The tearing at her skin was only a matter of time,

She was sure something was lurking in the trees, because they hide the mountains.

Pressing of the flesh came without warning,

It had been there for an eternity.

Only she knew this battle,

The evil taunting her soul and constantly chewing at the bit.

It knew not of the sting of fate, but of the fate of this sting

Still it follows…

Will it win?

Tied up into the flashing moments as the world was spinning,

Wicked this way will come; it’s been chasing you for years.

Caressing the dirt; the nails pound deeper,

There are no thorns to strong for the dark.

Sweet death slowly emerges,

As, the mist appears right out from your worst night mare right there,

Hold on it won’t take long; it will feed while you bleed.

Your story goes way back into the time of yester-year,

You’re just looking at yourself in a mirror, shocking to others…yes indeed.

The ginger as we’ve know her to be, she has red hair that flows with a story to each strand, and no matter how hard she brushes the story its always there. She has traveled years beyond what you could ever fathom, it’s beyond compassion. In the fifteen-hundreds, she was a woman born from Celtic clan. She’s been through wars, and defended her family, and her dearest friends, and has carried a temper throughout generations. A woman that doesn’t put down her sword for anyone, but the man she adores.

There’s not a confrontational moment she isn’t able to handle, she does it with precision. With her swift approach she recognizes the threat, and with this being said, she is able to handle any forbidden walk. She is like a something hard to imagine, but she is defiantly unforgettable.

Her beauty is striking, her hair, eyes and her body, her sexy candor will leave a man gasping for air, and yet she is the first to breathe life into clay. The sound of her voice never leaves the ear drum, as it goes on even in the gentlest breeze, yet roars like an undeniable foghorn throughout the mountain-sides. Like the beating of a drum slowly beating at first, but as sharp as a deadly knife. You’ll her thunderous entry, deep into the crevice of your hearing, and your heart will skip a beat. Stance is her best quality.

She will become naked at gesture, a hint of demanding pleasures of fighting, reflecting back to how it all began, when she came out of her mother’s womb. She felt the labors of love, then. And will conquer anything that stands between her, and love. Then, her coat of armor is exposed naked with, Christ. She defends and honors Him in all battles.

The power is in the flesh she bares, and the fruit of her mother’s womb tells all the tails. These warriors will live on forever, as she fights the ugly beast that bare their claws in defiance of goodness.  She is a goddess, she will fight for only a good cause, and when there’s blood shed it’s only due to what lurks in the darkness. And, she bares no scars.

The mountains can become molehills, because no matter how big they are…they’re won over time with honor, by the One that gives us courage.

Reflections can be deceiving; it just depends on how you view the image in the mirrors of your mind.

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