A poem is an alive person.
She is passionate, effervescent.
A majestic beauty. Too good to be real.
And what she stirs in minds of people
is more than love. It's lust.
She breathes in words
and smiles with metaphors.
But within her eyes she carries a secret.
A wound from another lifetime.
Born to heal. She doesn't take away the pain,
but makes it so intense, that it stops hurting.
With every passing line, she grows older.
She knows her fate and with a smile,
And even after she breathes her last word,
In afterlife she rests within the reader, forever.