do you see

the sharp ends

of her knife?

can you be

the blunter edge

to her strife?

. . .

she's beauty

she's grace

she never speaks truly

only kind words see your face

. . .

there is a flood

of bittersweet promises

in her blood

. . .

can you calm it,

son of the sea god?

or have you bit

more than can be jawed?

. . .

do you see

the dark waves

of his waters?

can you be

the lighter caves

of his slaughter?

. . .

he's calm

he's rushing

a soothing balm

but soon you'll be itching

. . .

the waters are bitter

when he controls

his rivers

. . .

can you make them sweet,

daughter of wisdom?

or will you eat

poison turned prison?

. . .

you can accept

the darkness

and become adept

at this new business

. . .

no need

to be a hero

you can bleed

cold blood, absolute zero

. . .


it is


short, dark percabeth.