words of bitter resistance to the way it was,
she spoke,
we listened,
we took her in, her voice was a reminder of illusion, and how it easily enters our frame,
the invitation is open,
she painted our pictures, we trusted.
she dressed us, we wore out her song... to the very last moment we missed the poetry in her message,
till the very last moment.
2009 will join us, in the clarity of 2010 but she won't be what she was, her foundation will have shaped us but her slander will have faded, her ability to create order out of chaos drove her into business,
with hype that fizzles our rhyme takes over with sizzling truths,
when the fight is taken out of us, there is room made for power that was born to heal through inspiration. She is free to transform.
On this blue moon, I've stepped aside, off the continent to return to the paths origin.
The Peek, may your walk down be soft and careful, cautious, and full of a silence that the stars translate into love,
we may have missed her poetry, but at the very last moment, we caught it, and read it back to her.
Every sonnet matures with age, 2009, bows and leaves the stage,
wardrobe placed on auction, that fight that was lost made room for 2010's simplicity.
All its humility, the spotlight soft, the spotlight of the new decade reframes the stories told.
The costume is worn out and thrown out,
she changed our style forever.
Our style.
