Trace for fingerprints,
of a memory long forgotten...

Lonely tears of devestation,
only comfort those of imagination...

Through clouds of dust,
with stinging eyes...

Mema was my grandmother, and I don't have any...
This is for her...

In morning dew, this dove does fly,
taking drops of the rain from the sky...

Sewn together, by strands of golden love,
peices of the heart I once knew come together...

Twinkling, with a majestic beauty,
you kneel before shimmering emeralds...

Purple and pink watercolors,
seem to bleed through the sky...

Sunlight creeps through the sky,
like poison overtaking its victim...

Canopy covered, protected, rain pours on,
but provides life to exotic petals...

A prisoner of myself, mind tormented by verse,
no sleep for this lively soul...

Repetitive and simplistic,
We grow used to a daily routine...