Scars on my heart tell a tale of a little girl;
Misunderstood, different, outcast,
But one day she’ll take over the world,
And the tear drops on her journal will no longer be vast.

Stars are bright tonight,
The night reminds her of what the future for her will look like,
Whilst the winds sing her a tune,
Of the things that are not impossible even if they are not in sight.

What she observe now is rare,
Watching the rivers reflect back what they see,
A beautiful rose stuck among the thorns;
She read that message loud and clear.
No more shedding tear drops on your journal.



                              Jonesy 2016 ©

The brown leaves
that shiver on the
bare branches greet
the last rays of gold
as the sun goes down.
A melody rises over
that velvet, shade of
fading green.
Bells of the indifferent
wind chime, for I am led
to a miracle of ancient
mother.
How beautiful...
A rose that grows waywardly
from within autumn's woods.
Spirits delighted to see the
rose that will not die, her red
petals shame my lips while
drooped sisters weep bitterly.
And in my garden, exquisite
fragrance,
Old memories,so sweet,
despite the thorns.
Illusions of the happiness of
the asleep and the dead...