She was a dream, a far distant dream...a lucid dream within reach yet so far out of touch...I craved her, desired her, needed her venerable caress...I looked at her, watching, tasting her pain...
Moods changing, inspirations rearranging again...I sing her song, sense her woes, deeply desire to protect her from her foes...
She draws me in then throws me away...abandoned...pulls me back again till at last I taste insane...She cries warm tears of glistening star dust captured from the darkness of his Starry Night...
Her wounds echo the pain of reflected lies...In the darkness of her realm I find my safety from all that shatters a broken heart...
Entwined in denial she will never know from where her pain comes, nor where it shall go again...She is forced to follow, bonded to it like a shadow...bearing no substance...
She glows in her darkness, like a far off distant moon, bursting forth her surges of soul dust, colors of sight tasting of cherry blood...she sacrificed her essence...left bleeding within some licorice encased black hole...
I saw her when I looked at me, her reflections in the mirror of my being, filling her galaxy, melting within the atoms of her etherialism...And I knew then of her pain filled anguish, of her melancholic bluez...
I thanked her for her Perfect Beauty and in return shared with her my mistie bluez...the bittersweet taste of hot liquid tenderness splashing down my cheeks, evaporating, seen by no one...always hidden in the silent substanceless shadows of the corners within my soul...within her darkness.
Lest she smiles...her melancholic smile...enraging some, healing others...She waits for endless time, the sand slowly falling through the broken hourglass of infinity...As she slides persistantly down the spiral of the artist's fine madness...
Her eyes echoing love seperated, removed at birth...Easified Wonderment sparkling as the New Dawn accepts her sorrow...And colors it Melancoholia Bleu...
Her lamentation pervaded sorrowfulness, driven by creative passion...I feel her subtly brushing against my soul...I remember I remember then forget again the wetness of the salt...
Her yearning calls to me, the pain, the love aeons ago lost...Dreams dead, Lucid! They cry...dreams dead. I felt them die...
Three missing pieces of my heart she holds, I saw them in her eyes..I looked away, my sorrow filled tears hidden...Who am I...?
I wonderously gather the long lost thoughts , then I knew...I was no one...I was Mistie...Melancholia...Bleu...And in the soft palm of my hand I held the secrets of the winds of ages past shared within me...
I ever so gentley opened my hand and offering, gave them to her, for I could no longer hold them, they no longer belonged to me...
"Lucid!"..she cried..."Tell me of your dream..."
Reveal to me your dream of the Wild Flowers that cries as a child cries...A yellow rose, a Perfect Yellow Rose...Growing high in the dark black night's blazing sun on your mountain top...Out of reach...
Soft velvet petals opening to those entities of gained trust...Sharing the secrets of the gathered soul dust...Falling through non-existant space...
Be warned of the sharp thorns pricking the spirit of those who resist to allow her to fly, for she is the epitome of the Free Bird of Freedom...
Blue Melancholic Mistie Bleu Byrd she is...Flying high with unclippable wings...Glowing in her darkness, casting substanceless shadows, her soft gentle voice sings...Listen to the silence of her song...Echoes of Melancholia Bleuz...
She knew no book could hold her word, nor the story of her bleuz, of Love Untold...Of Melancholia Bleu...No page could absorb the wet ink...Of the Echoes of the Melancholia Bleuz...
MISTIE BLEU ©8/2/01*Bust by Lex Loeb
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