I could not express her story (history)
In so few a word,
Her tale, not so easily grasped,
Wrestled by ink, or captured on page,
Still, I could write her into song,
Into script, into play,
And still not contain her essence,

For the self is not tangible,
The ego, not so concrete,
It is all so much more... conceptual,
More supposition and faith,
Less rigid in structure and being,
More, free - fluid, and everchanging,
As whimsical as the summer breeze,
Neither eternal or brief,
But omnipresent all the same,
As everything of this existence must go,
The only thing a surety, is that all things flow,

For in this plane,
There is nothing that is entirely true,
Nothing guaranteed, or completely seen,
Without tainting the view,
Be it through perception or ideology,
With the intention of labelling,
Of condensing the inexplicable into something,
Simple...but she is, incompressible, truly,
She is... beyond just anyone's comprehension.