She Was Never The Poem She was never the poem,She was always the writer.She used to write throughout the morningnoon and the nightPainting herself in wordshoping they would decorate her…

Dancing In the Night Alone She had become swept away by his presencewhile they danced under the faint light of stars,Her white dress floated around his feetAs her hands gripped…

There's a simple, quiet girllost in crowded darknesswhere all that standsare painted walls of starkness a curtain of golden hair she pullsover her drawn expressionher presence drifts gingerly awayto a…