Brighter than the stars in night,
Yet darker than the fright
Your smile is as breathtaking
as the aurora's of North side;

milk hair, milk clothes
a world painted in thick hues of the very same cream
the whirr of a printing press on blank paper
The flutters of fragile wings are perhaps all but enough to bring a child to hasty tears.

A mirror bought to
of echoing frailty,
a chord at its highest piercing note.

The crescendo before dusk.

A
pair of hands encased in its own
Who                                                          ­  
polite and light on the tongue,
                                                         ­                   a vain blind
                                                                ­           no less
Barred fingers in cells of clickety clackety letters and fonts of paintbrushes or the odd twitch.
It prays.
                                         Soundless noise.
                                                          ­      not a pin-drop
                                                                ­       not the screeches of bosses

And when the paper is stacked high on coffee refrains and static routine.
It screams.
The mirror.                                      

Cell             blown to bits
Custody               broken

Mirror tattered
refunded at a bitter price.    

Blank as snow and crisp as winter.
Gone like snow the very next morning.
But ever so physically there.

And listen
You know what?
What you are to me?

You live inside
My world
Far beyond
With heavenly grace
In all shades and hues
And flow naturally
Tracing a way
As the verses
Birthing life

Thanks for being
Namaste
If i have not said?

I've seen the bright new colors of tomorrow
because you're in it
I see wonder and hope everyday
because you gave me the will to fight
I wasn't the best
yet you choose me
so I manage to control the hues
ordinarily, you set them up
but I should contain everything
to keep things at its finest
uncertainty glued in every surface