she comes from a world
of puddles and stars.
from a world where
lion and lamb play
innocently, happily together.
a world where she wears
her heart on her sleeve,
and hopes and trusts although
it hurts hurts hurts
every single damn time.
she, the bright eyed lamb
has been shot,
been stabbed, been cut up
and bled 'till
she could no more,
'till she'd drowned
in blood and tears,
reunited with her precious stars
at last.
emptiness is sort of strange, isn't it?
when you've got
an empty piggybank
or
an empty backpack
it isn't much,
it's nothing really.
but to feel empty,
to feel hollow and frankly
i don't know who i am
nor do i think i ever will
but
i want to be so much.
i want to be a poet,
carefully nurturing
then raising and sharing,
the sustenance of the soul.
every once in a while,
the sky gets tired
and hides its face behind
hands of light gray clouds.
it sighs in quiet thunder,
and lets tears of blue
slip loose, trailing softly down
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