The way a poem can be.

How it floats, shifts, wanders.

And yet, it is freer than the wind, than the galloping sea.

Than you and me, she said.

But, both the wind and the sea were within her, she could not see.

Past the scars marching uo her arms.

Beyond the hurt, near and far.

She was beautiful.

The first I've seen of her soul.

The dear girl who had too many to care for, and no care left to give.

She closed her eyes and told me of the battles she had lost upon her wrists,

of all the dreams she couldnt wish and she was still there.

Sleeves pulled low and oh what lies beneath.

She longed for the sea.

For the wind to whip her hair to tangles, for the Earth to l.et her be.

Wishes cast upon falling stars are soon to fade like riddled scars.

The world goes on, the sun back down, just as the comet comes around.

She carried their hopes across the sky.

But, with the weight of dreams, she fell from up high.

And every battle is not a sure goodbye.