And these bottom lines
I so vaguely define
Full of missing spaces
Vanished in time
Perhaps too much of me
On these pages to bear
My ink pen desperately
Pleading for air
Still my heart
Revisits despair

And where is the empathy
You said was missing
After a cold hard look
At my dispositions
Shall we still pretend
That a heart can truly mend
I'd love to embrace
Such a beautiful end

For my falsehood
I'd surely atone
But these unfinished poems
Get written in Rome...

Venturing out
Into the woods.
Everything behind her
Is in Black and white -
Grey, but with a hope-filled
Blue sky.

Her red butterfly
Carries her transformed ideals
Within - it's always hovering close-by.

With every forward step,
Away from this manipulated
painful reality,

The scenery is painted,
Bringing it all to life -
A rainforest green;
Her sacred canopy.

Vivid,
Ever so bright,
Be it, by day,
Or, be it, by night.

Black and white do not exist
On this side of her world -
There's no grey!
Here, even shadows embrace
The blessed, illuminated,
Brilliant, pure light.

Doom,
Gloom,
And dullness,
Instantaneously banished!

Momentously replaced by
An addictive, elated state of vitality -
A miraculous invisible substance;
She embraces her newfound sanity!
Insanity just vanished!

Her aura
Paints her surroundings,
They are so alive -
In high definition, in full colour.
There are no toxins here,
No sorrow,

Nothing is needed,
Time stands still -
No need to borrow.

All of the brokenness
Is left behind,

She wanders off! -
Her soul
Free to unwind.

Here, she has no fear of heights -
There is a sacred comfort
In all that is phenomenally high,  
And so,
In all that grows,
From deep down
Below.

She inhales purity
Into her lungs,
She exhales
All of her noxious emotions,
She sighs with relief,
As she lets them all go.

Sinking her feet
Into the rich ground,

Each footstep brings her closer
To the edge of her world;
This is where she is often found.

Here, she is free...
She asks herself  "To stay, or to go?" 
The answer, she already knows,

The soft breeze carries
This wanderlust decision away,
As the free-spirited wind
Gently blows.

By Lady R.F ©2016

Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku