Digital Woman

For a special artist…

She takes root in some unknown town.

At least unknown to me.

She speaks as if a thousand muses

Invade her personal being

Oozing life and light yet,

I never quite see the same from 

still images baring her eyes.

Darkness accompanies an inferno

In disguise.

Waiting to burst through an open door.

To anywhere but her bedroom floor.

Something keeps her stagnant,

authoring lamentations galore.

She exudes an all-knowing countenance.

Still, so subtle in delivery.

That you can’t decide whether it’s an insult

Or a touch of flattery.

I don’t care to know, for

Her spoken word exceeds the value of gold

It’ll buy anyone happiness

If they truly comprehend what it is

they behold.

A treasure that’ll never grow old