25. The Birth of Servus

Weary scars run dark, sketched deep
on a mind once wise; deluded but free.
Hope glimmers, awaiting that glimpse,
Blurred even, as the lines drawn within.

Fiery spirits, invoke forgotten memory;
As bloodlust creeps along feeble skin,
Rejecting fiesty womanhood, reigns sanity.
Life rejoices too, lost in love’s mourning.

The longing is nigh, but the lust persists;
Victor, Servus now, “Yield to her wishes!”