Stare at your shoulder

Study it’s lines closely 

Dwell in your pride

A lion graces with his mane

Kings reign, and castles ruin



With a broken voice,

Sounds of her weeping guitar

She darts like a humming bird

Among falling branches


Will she be free?

From the violent hands

Dad is a drunk

and I hide in the closet


She says, “It is alright”

Kissing my forehead

Her cold lips are bruised,

Is it blood?

or tears?

that I feel on my skin


when did the roses decay?

Or they became bruised

Fallen to the ground

Where angry feet creased their petals


The frames are broken,

The pictures are in the flames

The vows are the ashes,

of yesterday

When she was a humming bird,

Chirping in the early spring

In the chords 

Her face never dies

Coloured across a stretched canvas 

Tired brushes perfect the lines around her smile
Her voice is an endless echoe

Looped in the mind 

The poet plays her a guitar,

Charms of the violin speak of her tale
Her eyes are the rising sun

With the breath of nature,

 across an early spring

The rays of the sun halo her silhouette 
She that loves an artist,

loved by an author

Never dies

In the heart of a soul singer 

She lives within his chords 


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