Shan’t call her a lady
for she is not tender or clean.
She needs to be rescued but, tis
something that one can’t explain and
although its only a dream
muttled in the colors of shady grey,
her thoughts can only kiss sky
and dwell in dark caverns
of fire born..
She walks with grace upon petals of gaia
and her voice lulls raging seas;
She might be fooled by northern larks
singing on his stained silver moon.
So , who who is she but , pawn or husk , human
designed to stall in the wind...
with sails unfurled , unbound and free..
gathering trails of living frailty
- Add a