Her crystal voice sang low in an atrium that she built herself.
The sapient nightdress of Minerva (upon another's body)
twirls with every soulful note that's sung.
It's like the winds of a storm.
She embeds those words of the soul;
She embeds those words of the soul;
words that tear pieces from the primal skies and seas
who's hunters found their prey all those years ago.
The maze that she's crafted from the clay within her mind
The maze that she's crafted from the clay within her mind
protects her from being translated into life, into form.
Who else embodies so brightly the spirit of the world?
Who else embodies so brightly the spirit of the world?
Who else is the poet in all those people's hearts?
She is silent sometimes but so alive
when life calls for it.
.
.
.
Okay so that's that. Just a draft for now. Thoughts?
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