Poetry

You make me give up too easily 
without a fight. I will not 
ask any questions. 
 
The elite mercy you are 
endowed with, green eyes, 
invite me for a daunting embrace. 
 
It cracked under the chariot 
on runway. The wings scattered, 
I will not be able to fly now. 
 
One day, I gave you my dagger 
to put it my heart. 
You had tied my hands for real. 
 
Overreached by words of 
mouth, a quill becomes a 
pen, waiting about carnage.