He travelled far and journeyed wide,
To find those with a spark inside,
Each one a sacred gift of love,
A soul descended from above.

He found her in a dark despair,
Lost in a world with none to care,
Her bright eyes drowning in her tears,
This slave to weaker people's fears.

He told her that she held a spark,
A light to guide her through the dark,
This power she'd hid for too long,
The chorus to her siren's song.

He took her hand and held it tight,
To save her from the dark of night,
Their bond beyond all love and lust,
A sanctuary of hope and trust.

He watched her dream in silent sleep,
Her mind still gripped by pain so deep,
A broken doll so incomplete.
This fallen angel at his feet.

He took her from the world she knew,
Towards the dawn of life anew,
Another land beyond the stars,
To mend her wings and heal her scars.

He helped her grow across the years,
As slowly they allayed her fears,
Until she spread her wings at last,
And left her old life in the past.

The rose we're told is often red,
the image set deep in our head,
but what if it were pink or blue,
or something of a darker hue?

The rose we're told is often red,
the symbol of true love its said,
but what of pain or baser needs,
the lust for deep and sordid deeds?

The rose we're told is often red,
the petals scattered on the bed,
but what if we could change the track,
and have the petals painted black?

Despite the path that she now walks,
She still can feel the moon's embrace,
Through dreams her mind forever stalks,
In search of her forgotten race.

Despite the years that have gone by,
She still can hear the hunter's call,
His song a dark and loving cry,
To join him where the shadows fall.

Despite the pain that she has felt,
She still can sense the beast within,
Beyond the hand she has been dealt,
This force that tempts her heart to sin.

Despite the things that she has seen,
She still can find the magick trail,
Through all the places she has been,
Back to that world beyond the veil.

Her body is her journal,
Her body is her life,
Her body is her monument to misery and strife.

She writes about the memories,
She writes about the pain,
She writes about the loneliness and tears that fall like rain.

Her ink holds all the secrets,
Her ink holds all the lies,
Her ink holds all the truth she knows when all that she loves dies.

Life is but a river- ever flowing on its course,
Surging ever forward further from its humble source.

Hope is our great vessel- the best ship that we can sail,
Taking us along our quest to find our holy grail.

Faith is the horizon- ever just beyond our reach,
Promising a new world full of answers we beseech.

Luck is simply tidal- ever changing with the flow,
Rising up and falling back much sooner than we'd know.

Love is our last lifeboat- ever there when times are rough,
Saving us from drowning when at last we've fought enough.

In all that we have been through,
And with all that's come to be,
Your heart has always been true,
As you've walked this road with me.

The journey may have been long,
And we've many miles to go,
Your soul has ever been strong,
As we've learned all we now know.

Through all the pain we've endured,
And each dark day that we share,
Your kiss has kept me assured,
As you've shown how much you care.

Though life has brought us laughter,
And more than our share of tears,
Our love shines ever brighter,
As we go on through the years.

They often said she had a soul much older than her years,
a force that dwelled within her heart that conquered all her fears,
a wise and gifted creature born of suffering and strife,
some noble fallen angel who had watched her all through life.

They often asked how she could paint the colours of the soul,
a talent that she never claimed was in her to control,
a simple canvas painted by her crude and untrained hand,
conveyed both thoughts and feelings the whole world could understand.

They often sought her guidance on their own attempts at art,
a task she felt unworthy of deep down inside her heart.
a challenge just to find the words each one would like to hear,
unable to relay her thoughts on all they held most dear,

They often found her hard to fathom when they came to meet,
a sense of something hidden in the shuffling of her feet,
a different personality to what they would expect,
but her work and reputation were enough for their respect.

They often thought about her when they looked at all she'd done,
a life spent in reflection in the shadow of the sun,
a stranger in the world though never far from any friend,
forever cloaked in mystery until the very end.