In the clear grey eyes

In the clear grey eyes of the morning
her hair gleamed gold, silver threads
mooned their colour through and down,
curled into tips of frost.

Inside her mind, clean and mown
a golden field lay before the sun
catching rays dropping down,
in her cupped hands pressed
were love and wisdom

blossoming like flowers in the dark.
Her soft heart beat the silence down
as all life held its breath waiting 
for the gem to bloom 
infinite and blue, waiting 
for her to put her tongue of mourning
to the cuts, for her lost
blood to take her home.
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