She was misplaced…by G. Mramor


La jeune martyre, Paul Delaroche

She was misplaced, for the time of the heart she waited, through smiles she found a piece of peace, and when he came to her there was opening, a sliver of a night a vision of some time long afore and long after, when time was the force who brought one, where trees grew entwined and stars wove in and out of each other across a milky river and rivers never parted and the earth touched the sky in all places and on the wind there went fire, where all the world was the force of touch, and when her heels came to the world once more one was gone, there was him there was her, and another sheet of ice fell off the iceberg of sorrow

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