Femme Fatale

Like broken bones

Of the kind— innocuous

She rises

Reassembles herself

From the ashes

Like the phoenix

Broken, beaten, mutilated

Of the creature smeagol

Distraught, is her appearance

On a scale

On a scale hitherto undreamt of

She's in pain

Of a pain that bellows within

Of the fires true and pure

They purify her

Like fires in a forge

Her accuser— herself

Her atonement— her crosses

But her time has ended

And resolution has been reached.