I wasn't given to Singing like a Beautiful Flower
I wasn't given to Blossom for the Enchantment of Others
I was a Moth that would Burn itself to the Ground
to Play with Fire
One of those Red Roses Torn to be Laid on a TombStone
A Grave would Become my Home of Long Forgotten Love
I was a Moth, One of Those supposed to Dissolve into Air
To Live as a Breath of Life
I wasn't supposed to Die, when the Shadow arrived
He took my Body by Night with a Riot of Butterflies
I wasn't given to Singing
I wasn't given to Play
There was NoBody out there
Only the Wind
H of Spirit is an artistic project, created under the auspices of the Spirit. Because Art is impersonal, any human element involved contributes only as a conduit for the spiritual. Having no beginning and no ending, H of Spirit is only one form out of numberless many. No words could describe the Unknown, no photograph could capture the Spirit.