Circles broken,
time stands still.
Not another hand might kill,
too many shouts
lead silent nights,
for frailty’s shattered fire flights.

To gods, or goddess’
who might hear,
a fragile voice, by whispered ear
—is there saving left through fear?

She stands inside her circle bound
another body hits the ground.

Silent days too many,
Leave shouting men too trite,
reaping frailty’s shattered firefights.

By Amy Koenig