Words that I write,
materialize,
bleed into life,
solidify.
Form vivid dreams,
of waterfalls,
magical streams,
peaceful install.
Visions of greens,
become forrest,
held in between,
truth and a quest.
A fantasy,
that levitates,
warm canopy,
my lines create.
Hear whistling birds,
that fly around.
Infinite earth,
above the ground.
A promised land,
that goes unseen,
lives in each hand,
composing scenes.
– Grace Y. Estevez- Reddy