She is fluid with a graceless heart,
Locked away in a box never to be found,
She is disarming with a self-deprecating smile
Simply pushed over the edge by time and effort.
I know her well, yet none at all, because she is as
Ever-changing as the tides, as more people add
Another stanza to the world's verse,
As people are simply just stories at their core in the end, after all.
But she is also hope, determination burning through weak defences,
Setting fire to hesitation and putting herself bare, out there for all to see,
Being brave, bold, the first to make a move.
She is as beautiful as the sky itself, musical in the ringing of wind chimes,
A great and terrible beauty all at once.
For she is often well-spun lies, or damaging truths,
But she is my sister, my kin, and I without poetry,
Am nothing at all.