Distressed chaotic mess
unmeasurable by the grand hands holding time within
beholder of her eyes
Her ivory skin rests against
the shades of the storm
that just blew through
Not found on any map or detour
her heart lands as the
feather in the wind
Whisping into safe keeping
The buried poet
exhales soflty planted are her roots
for near of spring growth
a beginning never saw coming
until she hit the dirt
the_buried_poet