path of the warrior §

§ Path of the Warrior §

Hiding within the Mysteries of Earth's Mist
Soon to be revealed by the Dark Blood of Vengeance she spills
Both Worshipped and Reviled by the tongues of man
Cutting deep into the Rotting Flesh of man's deepest Desires
Their dead corpses a stinking reminder of the horror's of War itself

Ares inhabits her very Soul
Merging her Sword together with that of her Inflamed Being
Breathing into her lungs the Air of Lust
Pouring into her heart the Molten Fire of Vengeance
Placing into her awaiting hands the Weapons of Battle

The Forces of Athena surround her
Their hands clasp 'round her's, their Immortality now flowing inside
Life surges through every taught limb
Awareness awakens within
The cold, hard feel of the sword warms beneath her fingers, Intoxicating her mind

The Wolf's Spirit lives within her, controlling her every movement
Bringing her closer to Danger's Seductive Snare
Allowing her to see what no other mortal can
The She-Wolf strikes.
Letting loose an Animal Scream of Ecstacy as her victim's life become's her own

Her Onyx eyes melt back to Indigo.
Immortality deserts the confines of her Soul.
Her chest heaves in an effort to rid itself of the last remnants of drunken frenzy.
Her heated gaze meets that of the motionless prey below.
They stare back, chastising her for every crime committed.
The response he recieves is a smile inhibitted by Destructiveness' Fervor.
For destroying him is but one small step in the Path of a Warrior.

This is a common flaw.

Capitalizing words that ought not be capitalized makes no sense. It just makes you look amateur. In a romance poem, I may be able to see You as a capital, but the word 'revile' will never have enough special meaning to actually merit it having a capital.

This poem is boring. You talk about Vengeance and the esoterics of Weapons of Battle (which is little better than the emoh fairy nonsense poems)

Condense all of this into a few specific images, lose any mention of the 'soul,' because, at this point, poetry has effectively killed the idea of a soul. In the last strophe, you've a little something with which to work--"Her chest heaves"--that's an image. You continued it with something you couldn't know, though--"in an effort"-- which is just preaching to us.

You couldn't get away with just telling in prose, you can't get away with it in poetry.

For the road, I advise you strongle to ditch the random capitalizing. It's one of the most amateur things one can do.