She despises flowers,
but she loves colors;
Making blue her favorite.
She hates poetry,
but she is a poetry herself;
Forsaking every prose.
She is an art
that cannot be seen.
A memory
that cannot be remembered.
A divine
that cannot be touched.
A human
that cannot be felt.
But a riddle
that can be solved.
The rain stops
she shines
and
serenity meets her soul
as she walks through the blue.