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
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
A treasure that’ll never grow old