Masterpiece
By Khrys D
[not published yet]
This journal sings out to me,
Dead tattooed trees
breathing stories
Hands touching its shed, dusty skin
My old yellow collection of stashed-away dreams
Leaves fluttering in a gentle breeze,
To feed a tempest of serenity
Blooming into the
Curves of an eleven-year old me
A person is a piece of art
A masterpiece.