Escaping Dreams;

A petal soft praise, silken shuffle of swift,
maneuvering feet, she emerged, poised from the thread of lilies and persimmons.
Like a Romani, she diverged and diverted many times over,
to the furtive, specious gallows of Stygian oils and midnight veils,
 to the delusion of light and air, honeyed and candied fields.

 A restless genesis, pervaded with sacrifice and callused, cold stares,
 and heartfelt interludes ignored, disregarded. Again and again,
the sonnet of sorrow and dejection penned the hallowed hollows of her life:
but never her words, her phrases, her sentences, her movements.

Where chill would permeate a wounded soul, settle into the
veins and freeze the fabric of an entity so that
 it could not bleed and could not feel,
she blossomed.

A whimsical floret, she grew in the brine of gloom,
spreading her flowers in hopes they would read the sun’s wide,
warm halo.
No one bothered to investigate this strange upheaval of behavior;
an abandoned scion, unpolished, fettered and withering,
 suddenly assertive, sanguine, and unyielding,

in spite of the cruelest junctures barbed upon her frame over and over.
From wickedness, grew hope. From savagery, grew aspiration.
From brutality, grew virtue. Perhaps, some admitted,
she simply chose to embrace life,

and what little love it had given her.