she lives in a time
unknown by most
a time when love
is her life’s host
unknown by most
a time when love
is her life’s host
she travels a road
less walked by most
a trail through hills
and down the coasts
she dreams in colors
not seen by most
and spends her days
with rainbows close
she sees in visions
not had by most
and paints her thoughts
in gold grandiose
she dies a death
not shared by most
and winds her way
with kindred
ghosts
.
.
.
.
.
.
2 comments:
Nica says, "You speak of me."
and it's so true, i do, speak of nica here - and in many many of these pieces here! she is such a force with which to be reckoned! ;)
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