Flowers bleed

 Flowers bleed

but not sap or perfume 

but their own true colour 

I met a smiley painter 

that was crying inside

in such an invisible way

and such a mute sound

that I couldn't possibly say

I held her instead

I defended her

Protected her as I could 

I rose my sword a bit

against the cunning 

and masterful bullies 

of hers

but they all made her

smile

while she was sad inside

Her paintings moved me

Always surrounded by poetry

And an unspoken melancholy  

There was a path of stone 

That she was threading slowly 

Just to see her smile again 

But each time with more light 

On her face and her heart