Tie yourself to those who fly
Aspire the vivid in our onyx sky
Rid the negative
Utilise the prime
Be dynamic and spiritual
In all of your time.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

She paints her world
According to her pure intention.
Pure in her own figure,
Not in someone else's.
She doesn't speak,
Of words in complex.
Her mouth but translates
Her minds complexity into simplicity.
She doesn't need to speak but rare.
You've read her words,
You've witnessed the paradox
Of her pen-to-paper.
You understand her terminology
Of no bad cause.
She wordlessly preaches her rootless existence
Through the essence of her eyes,
As she hides behind the smoke of her cigarette
Extraordinary, in disguise

Amanda. F (c) 2017

The angelic silhouette of her intentions on paper,
fair with the golden fingerprints of the depths of her soul
so pure.
Her smile with the potential to light up a thousand dead cities in the blink of an eye,
So allure.
Her eyes play so convincing,
The calm detailed glisten in the sunlight and the sorrowful muted tone they become when her mind is far from bright.
Her idiosyncratic and highly distinctive attitude towards things never fails to amaze me,
Her heart silences her mind when only it feels what her mind can't see.
Rosalie is art
From her knowledge full and constantly absorbing mind, to her utterly beautiful heart.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

Your eyes, portraying
A rough duality
Of detailed art
And subtle reality*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

The wind bears with it stories
of faces, bodies, and stillness,
It's graceful yet forceful touch ,
which carries the birds.
surfaces stretching seas,
and sends a breath of life
to the flowers, grass and trees.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

What passes as chaos from dawn till dusk,
Alters into the most fascinating aray of lights at night.
An abundance of lit buildings showcasing a skyline of a once town now a luminescent anomaly.
A neon horizon upon a city of life,
Movement, that never sleeps*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

Oh great city of stars,
May we dance the moment
After midnight under your
Watch*

Amanda. F (c) 2017

My body is a ballroom for my soul to dance in.
My eyes are shooting stars that claim the cosmos of my sight.
My hands are fragile vines of woven skin that grip the dirt and praise the earth.
My skin is a delicate mould.
My freckles map the constellations and tell the alignment of the stars.
My body is my home, that explores the wonder of the universe.
I am nature. I am art.

- A.F

Us souls at once reduced to silence
And forced upon a granted purity.
Our recycled bones of dust,
And bruised lips that intertwine
Words unspoken.
Words that provoke ones burning veins
And sets the calm in a sea of fury.
How we all do crave to be somewhat saved.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017