Enid’s Diary
A Farewell After-Thought
In the stillness of the evening’s glow,
Enid writes, where knowing winds blow.
A farewell thought, a philosophical sigh,
In ink that never dares to dry.

All things will die, as seasons change,
Yet love, even lost, can still arrange—
a place within the heart, concealed,
Where memories remain, unrevealed.

The past is done, it cannot change.
To dwell there leaves the soul deranged.
Living in the now brings tranquility—
in the present exists true sanity.

Ask me no more of what is past,
For in this moment, peace will last.

Of Boadicea
In Time’s Court, the battle’s hue,
Brings forth the dawn, so sharp, so true.
A clandestine city, now in fade,
Where Boadicea’s heart was laid.

Her legacy reflected only in battle’s refrain—
Yet what is the hue of bloodshed and pain?
Once thriving, now fallen, in ruin and decay,
Empires crumble, then fade away.
Queen, your revolt is time’s silent song,
Yet your fierce resistance carries on.
Strength enduring, a tribute remains,
Even as the world forgets your gains.

Yet in spirit let the woman remain,
in your sacrifice, in you I gain,
to rise and fall in accolades,
once full of life, that now fades.

A force to shape both time and space,
Yet legacies drift, leaving a fleeting trace.

Of the General and Fatima
An epitaph for the General—
A hero, honored at his funeral.
Yet Far-far-away, Fatima’s grace,
A flower in the crannied space.

The hero lives on in memory’s light,
His story is cleansed of flaw’s insight.
But grace unspoken, Fatima’s pain,
Blooms in shadows where virtues wane.

The heroine in death has no memory—
as the heralds sing tributes to men’s legacy,
Idealized in achievements lacking equality,
For man has no flaws in his written reality.
In distance, temporal is Fatima in honor,
unjust are men who bring women horror.
Yet grace is expected to grow
In fractured soil, men will not sow.

the best of women, the righteous, helped by God,
the pure, yet beat down by men into the sod.

Of the Myths of Men
Amphion’s song, a tale told and retold,
writ in the air, legends so bold.
By his Lyre, walls were raised to stand,
Stones moved by music’s hand.

Break, break, break, O silent skies,
With spring’s first song, a man’s reprise.
What of Demeter’s tears, Persephone’s plea,
A duet sung in mute, silenced through eternity.

Oh, Goddess, would you bear her sorrow,
To grieve today and hope for tomorrow?
Rebirth is a cycle of loss, longing, and renewal;
Yet hope fades when men’s hands turn cruel.

Let spring freeze under everlasting ice;
Let winter last forever, if this be the price.

Of Mortal Women
From silence, a woman’s voice must rise,
Breaking free beneath open skies.
Life renews in a mother’s embrace,
Yet daughters endure a harsher place.

Long silenced and suppressed
Breaking the heart of her chest!
In spring the earth comes alive,
Yet, silenced, she does not survive.

Would you bear your daughter,
suffer women, dragged to slaughter?
for the women in men’s cages…
for our daughters—Rage, Rage, the ages!

In early spring, the flowers bloom,
Through darkness and the gathering gloom.
And the mother’s sacrifice, love’s weight,
Life and death are intertwined with fate.

The mother endures her personal sorrow,
Emerging from grief to face tomorrow.
Through loss, the seed of hope may grow,
A testament to all she knows.

The mother bears the quiet endurance
In the darkness of man’s influence.

Of the Lore of Men
Gareth and Lancelot, their voices rise,
While Lynette, and Elaine, lie in silence, despised.
Camelot in Arthurian lore,
Yet women—the legends ignore.

Beauty in silence, is this love’s embrace?
Kingdoms crumble, and ideals efface.
The quest for redemption and enlightenment—
Moments of transcendence beyond man’s entitlement.

Guinevere’s love, the curse of Arthur,
The coming of hope, in the darkened earth.
Camelot’s fall, the king’s decline,
While her story remains confined.

I send you here a sort of allegory,
Of lives that lived in untold glory,
Of the chivalry of men, a shining guise,
Laws and legends crafted in lies.

In stories from the Idles of the King’s Decree,
In the last tournament, will she ever be free?

Of the Privileged Daughters
On winds of freedom the Queen will fly,
and in the crumbling silence, I cry.
Gigantic daughter of the West,
Hands all around, your souls at rest.

Freedom is yours, yet nations divide,
Dreams of unity are left to subside.
yet a daughter’s strength, her enduring fight,
Still echoes in the fading light.

Freedom through loss, unity, and imperfection!
Historically, shall fail without introspection.
She is a lost figure of liberation,
equality, progress, and emancipation!

The dogs howl; indolence marks the time,
As home they brought her, warrior divine.
How thought you, that this thing could last,
A dream now buried in the past—

That this thing could captivate?
A journey of love, now at its fate.
Can truth endure in heaven and earth below,
Or will it vanish and the placid lie grow?

In mourning, I cry, in longing—
a dream that was once vibrant now decaying.
Oh, daughter of immense strength,
a legacy lost in your quiet; at length.

Moments of capability changed the tide,
Now gone. In silence, memories hide.
The cost of freedom, the price of pride,
A fleeting era, soon cast aside.

Where is the unity? No reconciliation,
No solidarity or remembrance in your nation.

Of Modern Men
Moments of inspiration, transformation at a cost—
the passing of an era, liberation, and loss.
Life, morality, and the human experience—
What men forget is not mere happenstance.

Pride makes men stumble.
Yet can men be humble?
The dissolution, fading of ideal.
Yet the Queendom is left unreal.

Men believe in their chivalry,
values, and ideals less than legendary.

Of Tomorrow
Hope and renewal may yet emerge,
Or shall it fade to a mournful dirge?
Oh, the duality of action and silence;
Love in passion is destructive in defiance.

Oh, the unfulfilled longing and tragedy—
Why is it the woman dies untimely?
The stillness of death… in conceptuality
The despair contrasts hope and vitality.

To tell herstory is a heroines fight—
A world unseen beyond men’s sight.
What is the quiet beauty of love and devotion—
Entrapment? Imprisonment? Betrayal in motion!

Even in despair, can hope emerge,
with potential beyond the dirge?
Illusion and truth are entwined in this quest,
as history remains the telling without her zest.

Enid’s diary could be a light divine,
A moment transcending mortal time.
Her struggles might reveal providential intent.
Will truth exist in the firmament?

Enid’s diary is not something men can write.
A farewell thought, yet, no soul’s delight.