(Rich in the first line is Adrienne Rich, a female poet I read in college)
Rich dove through the wreck seeking a drowned maid;
Now, carving in Attic depths for a cursed
Blade, I have found that which cut the tender
Throat of Iphigeniea, daughter of
Atreus, for whom he died. Attic men,
Seeking to lay blame, placed it, as always,
Upon a thing defenseless, voiceless. Now,
This knife, dread blade, my precious, is my voice...
If look to fight, then fighting look to die!
Death a fate you construct for yourself, you
With belief build a fate you need not fear.
If my life ends at your hands, you, too, shall
Like the knife, voiceless, be cast into sea:
Rust till you, too, become another's voice!
Untitled Sonnet
Moderators: deer of the dawn, Furls Fire
