A healer A seeker who looks into a wall to see somebodies eyes
A cusion of roses, and says to herself, Am I real?
A mind that is worn,
And sits along a picture's frame.
Day for tomarow the lunar sands
The rust of a pretty paper ribbon.
The face she remembers...never the same.
The rapids of rythem,
And venture from Donna's mind
Wait in a shadow skull.
One wish that finds broken
Like wilted magenta carnations
Just kindled by a hope, that is leaking to dull.
And the pain is dark; like the center of a burried stone.
Far away: deep inside
The only hiden voice to hide
Like the sound of a shallow tone.
And they aren't even there, she thinks, to her.
But they are in the shadows that line the bookshelf.
And the path of a rhyme
That was ment to be said like a straight unrhymeing lyric.
A healer who is hopeing to heal herself.
A seeker who looks into a wall to see somebodies eyes