She is a master of words.
She uses them wisely.
She uses them haphazardly.
She uses them to plant seeds
to grow flowers of either beauty or poison
Or both, with equal feverishness.
She uses them quietly.
She uses them loudly.
She uses them build beautiful ideas
of either Paradise or Babylon
with no regard of passions but her own.
She uses them infrequently.
She uses them continuously.
She creates a symphony
of either joy or sorrow for the audience to feel
and she merely watches the catastrophe from afar,
And walks away.