Her poetry loves her usual melancholy.
Her rhymes couldn’t even summon the sun when dark clouds lingered over her.
She just waits for the fragrance of rainwater to wash away the dirt from her tears.
The misty yet melodious pour.
A lengthy silky strand of memory that always escapes.
Heartache and hope,
rhymes and misery,
lyrics and odes.
Slowly lacing themselves to the value of who she is.
A continuing thread of love and grief.
A colorful crochet of life’s  tapestry.

And she dances to the gorgeous melodies of the wind.
Echoing strength  in her new found wings.
She gathers grace after an almost endless stupor.
With a courageous heart, she grows her pretty wings in darkness.
And as she enjoys her freedom in the air,
she scatters glitters to every flower.
A wonderful flight in cheers.
A celebration of hope and change.
A meaningful metamorphosis.
A colorful blossom that beautifully swirls.
Seeking love, bringing life.
A sweet journey to remember.
A brief yet lovely moment to soar.

It is a fallacy that
a poet never dies
Because truth remains
  even
Words soon falls a
                             p
                                a
                             ­      r
  Like everything else in this world                            t

And
Eventually fades a
                                        w
                     ­                       a