Sane.

Small things

In a giant’s hand

Soft voices

Heard over the band

Clear vision 

Through the veil

Memories of petals

Through the sky they sail

Dry grass dancing

With the song of wind

Solid rock towers

Where men sinned 

Rainbows painted

In the burning rain

Beauty in the tears

That proved me sane.

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Love left to wind.

Her love was like a dandelion, she would laugh at that. I don’t mean the flower or the colour yellow, but the aged white fluffy kind. The kind that looks soft and inviting, like down, fixed on a stem. You reach for it and hold it in your hand, then the wind picks up and it disappears in pieces, reaching for the sky. Funny thing about dandelions, even when they leave, its beautiful.