meandering lucid
through the red marshes
the crimson sun bathed stream
converses
with her little pale feet
a question
in her inquisitive tangerine eyes
she flies free
in the sunflower fields
stealing glances
from the singing nightingales
envious of her soft lemon eyes
porcelain dolls
painted velvet and gold
bearing cracks of love
mock the color
of her hurt blue eyes
she sits by a candle
in realities
cold dark room
seeking the tired flame
to paint her cold silvery eyes
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