Ink on the page,
painting pictures of life,
of death, and all the things between.
Prompted to write for a moment of escape,
to carve her own path,
in a landscape still being painted.
Verse discovered,
hardly seen as she drew her life's breath
while struggling to define her position.
Imagery so beautifully crafted,
from a room so small
overlooking a world so wide.
From you, a way was made,
for the writers, the lovers,
the peacemakers, the broken.
The ones who search,
looking for more,
because they know their worth.
Because the thing with feathers,
a many pair of nobodies,
the ever continuing dialogue between spirit and dust.
Encouraging us to take
power in our hands,
and reminding us that recollecting is forgetting.
An exploration of life,
an expression of love,
a discovery of nature,
a vision of eternity,
a reminder of time.
This is all of Emily.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem