She loves reality, she loves him not.
Picking flower pedals from acquitted roses,
bleeding out these sharp, green thorns.
Laying against rotting- ashamed logs,
of a tree who lost pages of her free will.
Where the storm of depression broke free
and tormented the palms of her forest.
Does this change the average of her day?
Does this change the dreams of her night?
Does this change the chapters of her books?
Will this have a permanent effect on the beauty?
She changes the words of nursery rhymes,
feeling it would inflate the heart of children.
But you can't replace music-
falling from a sky of starlight and dark clouds,
dreams are separated from nightmares and reality.
Capturing the gas of the north star inside a bottle-
sending it down the river to her sister.
'Hello reflection, let's trade riddles and dance over seas'
Where dolphins move like a ballet- as the whales proudly sing.
Schools of fish; multi-colored, together similar to artistry,
and such dreams- ruined by the old fisherman.
She paints her imagination on the great wall of china,
as children walk through it, cross the yellow brick road.
Golden doves and sour plums all on one plate-
because her nature was too mother like to go write back go.
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