A canvas simply can not capture
The beauty of her rebirth,
A Phoenix simply can not be captured
Within the stroke of a brush -
Nor with the scratch of a pen.
She is art in the rawest, purest form
Bleeding pain, grace, sacrifice, and perseverance;
An enchantingly chaotic storm
In her own extravagant radiance.
Mountains, as sturdy as they are, pale in comparison
To the strength that she emits,
While trees can only harness a margin
Of the majesty of which her soul consists.
Mystic eyes ensnare the playfulness of the moon,
While the stars twinkle within;
Galaxies can do nothing but croon
As her smile beams with a thousand suns' brilliance.
Cradling a wounded heart that buds vulnerability,
Flowers of tenderly passionate love bloom -
Their aroma the sweetest epitome of tranquility,
A devastatingly addictive perfume.
She is a living canvas,
Painting her way through life
And reigning with a madness
One can not help but admire.
