A soulful remedy.

From my North to her South, the air
Would gently slip through her hair,
Shaking her bones with a kiss of cold,
Unveiling her neck, silver and gold.

She speaks in silence,
Her smile echoes more than words.
She leaves the voices with good riddance,
For she knows the magic is in the chords.

In all shapes, her music is reason.
Playing with the rythms as a shifting tide.
But her pauses to breathe are genuine treason,
For all the things she has to hide.

Every pitch perfect she reaches,
Seems like a tiptoe in her melody,
Through souls and flesh, her voice breaches.
Tearing but healing, like a soulful remedy.