She stood counting the beads. Each bead a year. Each scar a war. The dusty smoke pilfered life. The bronze sweat reflecting windows that did not look out. Under the dance of lights Stood a lifetime of mayhem Under the riot of colours blurred monochrome memories It took lifetime of scar and s c a t t e r e d beads, to witness the northern lights to empty whatever she earned.
Words are Light... Images are Objects... Thoughts are Shadows...