Maps

it was her sadness that made her beautiful.
a beautiful multicoloured bud that never bloomed in spring.
her eyes told tales of the sea, her hair the scalded blackness.
in her ears music would ring, bells playing of disorder.
often among the cooling breezes, hard stones were conformed,
twisted and hardened from her sorrow.
and it formed wilderness and was desolate.
wind often takes its place in the plains of sand,
where the sand will whistle and sing
and tell of the sad song that had once ruled over them,
that of loneliness the cypress sings.