Female Warriors

Every movement we make
judged by old moral codes.
The shape of our destiny
chipped by the
ancient  sculptures
chisels in granite.

We are at war with our own kind.
Blood pours from us
battle after battle.
No hero can save us
from what we are.

Over glasses of wine and liquor
we see the madness
of the full moon

We are the changing virtues
the ones leading the battle
in the trenches of tomorrow.

We have no friends
take no prisoners
We live to live
not to please.

We fill our raw needs
in violent combat
In beer stenched bars
In bed and in poetry.