Katrina Kaye

I am your sacrifice,
the daughter whose blood can gift you home.

A unwinding of fate,

another snipped thread,
not quite golden.

You promised me a warrior’s bed
but delivered only spilt blood, knife to throat.

Your most sacred of lambs.

It is easy to give up what you never wanted;
what you never saw as your own.

I was your daughter,
I was not born merely to burn.
I hatched to spread wings.

Did you always see me as just another pawn,

a toy,

a golden coin,

not even your most precious?

My death secured your travel,
your destination now foreseeable,
but not what greets you upon your home shore.

I am helpless to your maneuvers above high waters,

but my mother is not so forgiving

and she waits,

axe in hand.