a gem of hidden beauty lying dead within herself, those memoirs of a life well lived sit dusty on a shelf. the foundation of a house well-built, the straining seams of time, a beauty nature calls her own with a touch from the divine.
farther from the thought of peace, than she has ever wandered, a haughty gaze and fallen tears have pushed her demons onward.
a weed within the garden that besides her shines perfection~~~and in the well of all things dying, she glimpses her reflection.
Rock me to sleep, Oh mother earth, for what more is there than rest? when the ones we gather to ourselves reject our open breast.
A throb of cut emotion and of newfound sight at birth, pride regained and joy relived as we bathe ourselves in mirth.
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