***** your finger on the spindle,
sleeping beauty - wake up!
a little pain might detox your clustered mind.
don't be afraid of what i find,
i'm sure there's nothing
maleficent
in here.

And she took some tiny steps
to love herself.
Slowly whirling toward the rainbow,
a light guide to her greatest love.
With colors like no other.
Enjoying her journey,
a wildflower embracing herself.
Growing wherever she chooses,
in the stillness of the stars and the rhythm of the breeze.
Wind and pain,
sunshine and rain,
A velvety night,
a meadow in the sky.
And she took some more steps
to love herself.
She doesn’t have a name,
she’s a wildflower dancing free.

The old poets write of archaic heroes;
the old poets sing of tragedy and pain;
the old poets know of woe and triumph;
the old poets make words that forever remain.

The new poets dabble in life and in darkness;
the new poets scribble their madness on page;
the new poets read what the old poets wrote;
the new poets write out of freedom and rage.

I write to relive and I am doomed to re-die
if only the emerald would leave my eye,
and stain every plane of my memory's mind,
and promise every secret my future might find;

I write to give slivers of salt to the world
I long for the knowledge that I am doing this right
I write for the forlorn fire in the palm of my hand -