She grabbed me by the scruff of the beard,
And said, “You gorgeous man, you!”

I watched as she expressed herself,
All busy hands and ******* in the late spring cold.

All silver love and confidence,
with her secret, seducing soul.

I read your words
Combinations of
Combinations of words
Combined
In a way that is uniquely
Yours.
I find it awe-inspiring
Truly.
You make me want to
Cry.
When I hear your feelings
Expressed so beautifully.
Your worries
So sincere.
It makes me worry
Which makes me stop worrying
Because it shows me that I
Still care.

She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the worlds
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of her
own made songs she sang to
herself each
and every
day she
was alive.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the swing
blew her
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with her
only little sister to whom
she adored more than
each breath she took
each and
every day
even more.

She stood firm at home
never allowing her fathers
drunken words of pain
penetrate her self made wall
of anger, hatred and despair
inside her
mind there
stood angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons to
disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
infact alive.

© Sia Jane

A fresh wound is my heart
A dark void is my soul
To love completely minus control
An abrupt ending to a cherished role

A fresh wound is my heart
Emptiness of all space
To caress kiss an angelic face
Withheld from my grasp every last trace

A fresh wound is my heart
With the absence of care
I'm needing missing wanting to share
Without touch sound and sight you aren't there

A fresh wound is my heart
To just have and to hold
Return of love gone precious as gold
Once warmth of my spirit hardened cold

A fresh wound is my heart
Ever the tiniest thing
Tears loss and pain such sadness they bring
Reminds me of loves genuine being

A fresh wound is my heart
You are off on your own
Miss you immensely feel all alone
Bleak nothingness and vacancy have grown

A fresh wound is my soul
I want you back with me
I offered you up it will never be
Love your face in my dreams....you and me

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountain yields.

There we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

**** Decency! I want to live as an animal, marauding the savanna. 
To shade beneath the acacia and find excited peace only when and where the shadows hide. 
To feed from the tawny grasslands and rest in the hollows of concentric sienna and obsidian.
To procure the lay of the land through deliberate exploration.
To find solace in the peach hillsides that languidly lean into vermillion valleys.
To discover that there is no edge of the world, only beautiful quirks and catenaries where the beginning is the end.
To drink from time, the cool blue stream it is, and truly taste the flux of kinetic molecules.
To prey on moments and capture them with a swift strike of the paw of perception.
To roam.
To be.