Absolutely stunning she was,

Blooming and perplexed because

Cerulean daydreams had stretched,

Deeper and she was rested in next,

Even if it pleased  Mother,

Father knew the path never really fit her,

Good thing she could still hear her own voice,

Halting, healing, cautious, brimming with music and choice,

Injustices are relative but I always thought,

Justice wasn’t just a matter of getting caught,

Kicking around roses from memory,

Life spent hoping they’ll remember me,

Memory is a funny thing,

No say in throwing the ring,

Obviously he was never ready for anything real,

“Pleased to meet you, I don’t care how you feel.”

Quit excusing and start observing,

Really, people will show you if they are deserving,

Something more or something less,

Trust the truth and stress less,

Usually things have a way of working out,

Vacant poise, hope devout,

While you were sleeping,

Xenia’s bonfire was keeping,

You will never see me cry,

Zen until the day I die.


Image: https://www.apassoduomo.it/index.php/rubriche/narrazioni/85-il-segreto-della-piuma



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