Natural innocence
and simplicity,
a glorious arc
of rainbow charity.
The pulling of silk
through the loom,
a magnificent child
of the storm.

Holding pureness
feeling my love
without knowing.
Asleep at the wheel
of just being born .
The silence was deep ,
sweet and sad .
Her every breath was
a provision of
sacred order .

I had an absolute
vision ,
a prelude of silent
music .
The wind sang
sweet melodies
born of time
and starlight.

The music asked questions
of the breeze,
to butterflies and angels .
But , was answered in
a thunderous storm.

Disintegrating realms
of hope .
Who will advocate for
a beloved soul .

Life’s wounds move on
but , we are left
with the scars .