Rose colored me

When I write 

My muse whispers

Little white Truths

That alone harbor no meaning

But stitch a realm

Beyond here and now


What I write does not affect one or the other

But silently reflects Truth

I hold no knowledge that isn’t already known

For learning

Is to realize

The quest accomplished by another

Yet knowing

Is to pioneer

An intuitive quest of my own


I have a storyteller soul

That silently speaks

Through a language of shapes and forms


My thoughts and feelings

Bear no resemblance to my outward self

But resonate my one self


An ethereal being that changes form

From the slightest cosmic flux