Once she was called storm
her wrath was pure fury
yet cleansing and vital
her nature can be unforgiving
but she would always settle
At times her calm was just
an illusion
The eye of a systematic
cyclone

Once they called her raven
feeding on dead sheep
coercing with wolves
adorned in mystery
hidden behind her long black hair
whispering messages from the gods

Once they called her firefly
her interal beauty shinned in the darkness
although by day she looked rather average
by night her light was pure inspiration
and many tried to catch her as she passed

Many names
many places
many loves
many decievers

but even at her worst they rendered
her beautiful

she's "Too crazy to live,too rare to die."

And all aspects still live
in my heart and mind
a spirit that never dissipates
with time but morphs
into a new name or kind.