I was born in springtime,
shades of daffodils...

Crying buds
whisper to a mum...

Words are falling stars
dangling from a spider webbed scarf...

Poetry remains
embedded within my thoughts...

The window appeared narrow,
These eyes don't focus like they should...

When you're little, gazing upon a giant Fir
adorned with tinsel, you can't help but be...

Her eyes saw visions
within a haze of violet...

Black skies are
my solitude...

Digging deeper-
They always dig deep...

Within a brisk moment
her eyes fluttered...

There is a crack above
where light silences the whispering...

Unwanted visions collect thoughts -
I file them away...