She is Home

By The Dawn Writer

Untouched was She,

Forsaken on a creaky old board

Her embers flamed through the dust

Memories sedimented through time

The strokes of Red still time.

As daunting as her prowess

Entwining the lines, She ruffled

Her snarls as Scarlett as the storm

Disguising Her calm thunder:

Erring Her Cerulean Ocean was always a fool's work

For Her warmth never made her a petite

But under all the layers lay the first stroke

Ever drawn, the devil's work

For only the brave ever dare

To toufle those Starless moves

For Her darkest pillars

Are still in awe for the stars

No matter: the rain always soothes her in the night,

For the dawn is fresh

The whiff of the canvas colouring the air

Her fragrance not just raw

But covered with masterful strokes

And there she lay untouched

Mighty and Proud.

Cause She is Home;

No longer a destitute in search...