Here is the story of Vivian Grace,
She sleeps forever under the bridge of her fate.
For when she cried,
Her soul she spilled out
To the sky from the earth,
On a boundless night.

Plastic cups litter
And oil clouds spill
Her watery grave bitter.
But forever she sleeps on,
Waiting for the dawn that will not come.

From the city she ran,
Her long legs spilling over the pavement streets.
Asphalt burns her feet,
And she is running from the horror of the life that she created,
A story that is meant for telling later.

She traveled far,
And with no chosen destination.
But patient not were the winds with her,
As she passed buildings and dreams,
Slums and fields,
And the place she grew up.

Where purple flowers grow,
That is where she slowed.
Her heart murmured of the endless days and warm nights,
When her hair would blow with the dandelion seeds,
Where she skipped and she jumped,
As if her arms were small bird wings,
Dreaming of what her life would never be.

She walked more slowly now,
Towards the bridge over the crossing.
The water ran low,
And some rocks were dry-
Dry enough for sleeping.

She lay her heart here,
Her quiet, softened heart.
She lay her head here,
Upon the mossy rocks and dirt.
She lay here life down here,
Where she fell into an eternal peace.
Here her mind was arisen.
Here her mind she let free
To the clouds and the stars.

Here she lies to this day-
On the rocks,
Under the bridge,
Which is over the crossing.
Unfound and at rest,
The way her life was meant to be.