Her eyes were critics and her feet were still,
Far too long had she suppressed her will
To fulfill the idea and not the real thing;
She had been the kite, now she was the string.
The day came when the wind suddenly grew severe
And she swept across the daunting frontier,
Free from all manner of flamboyant expectation,
Knowing she wasn’t built for long-standing pretension.
The glass could still see her, but she paid no mind
Staring into its depths can make a person go blind
Despite being no danger in looking through lens,
Fixated on the self, they are no longer friends.
It was the moment to explore the ‘maybes’;
With the timely help of a buoyant breeze
She breathed fresh beauty into the strains of her soul
And so, a dancing diamond grew from a clouded coal.
A pictorial poet