The bravery of David is what she held in her heart and the inner beauty of Sarah is what she showed the world, on that fatal day.
Ava traveled to Namibia to see the lions. She felt the beaten path of pilgrims as she knelt in Canterbury. And as she laid in the Dead Sea she knew she was home.
Portia and Juliet were mere whispers on her tongue as she left the stage with each blackout and curtain drop marking another end.
Cartographers could never chart her direction. Ava rose with the sun and jumped to the stars when it was time to peel back the thick duvet. She hung her head in metallic frames as curious onlookers stopped to analyze the expression on her face.
She stood at the edge of the sea with the crashing waves below and the cliffs of Dover threatened to pull her down. But it was not until he came that she met the beginning of her end.
She met Samson one day and tried to clip his golden strands as he leaned into her world. Her power subdued, her willingness heightening to a climax brought the trembling triad of lover, unloved, and longing to the fore of her heart’s battlefield.
Ava marched east and west, she brought in troops to man the cannons, but none were fierce enough to pull him down to her level of carnality.
A glimmer in his eye sent her retreating into the night, and as he touched her arm she found herself groping the field below in no man’s land.
But on that fateful day she found her strength and pulled on the beauty of her inner riches. She let the music ride off her tongue as she spoke to her unrequited quest.
Crystals on the midnight lake could be heard in the utterance of her thick and layered words. A baby’s first cry, pelting her forwards, spoke of her unmarked body and soul. But all that she brought forth, conjuring mountains and trees and the swan’s curved neck, could not bring Goliath down.
And so she lost herself that day. In the hailstorm of love with feelings so violently projected that she could never return them to her bower of bliss, she disappeared.