Worn
She was a muse
In the hands of those
Who handled her poorly
Who built castles in the sky
Upon her shattered smile
With the fractured pieces of her heart
Without regard for her unguarded while
To devour her like used rags
And recycled paper
“SHE WAS A MUSE IN THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO HANDLED HER POORLY”
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Sweet Temperament
At the coreYou breathe a charitable airWith tolerant empathyOf benevolent kind
Empty Vessels
Many like the muted soundsResonates the empty chatterOf voided vessels
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