Maybe She Was The World

Maybe she was the world;
Caught gracefully in the nets
That once caught everything beautiful
Before her

Maybe she had nothing;
She had gold and emeralds
But they were not valuable

Maybe she’s not real;
Had it not been for ink tracing curves and lines
And a mind for giving her a soul
Or a place to start

Maybe she’s one of us;
All of us, reflecting like mirrors as we pass by
Unaware of our steps and
Careless of our paths

Maybe she’s gone;
Faded so gently into the chilled November air
As we start to walk again
Not knowing that we’re already gone too

Maybe we’ve all faded;
Frail, sick, untamed creatures that ache inside
As if we all had no flesh, no bones
No real life outside of wrinkled pages and forgotten books

Maybe we’re free;
Like she was as the torn page slipped lightly into the wind
As it danced above our sleepy heads
Living our dreams for us