“Warriors have emerged from the ashes of trials and sacrifices.”

Life experiences are like pollen grains, scattered and found in the arcades of wounds which are soulless but colorful like a rainbow.

My heartbeats have filled the directions and glory of love that I receive from him, a meaningful positive calm filled aura in being his.

I stood in the face of fear, with the smirk on my face, baiting it to have a go, so that I can embed my soul in the very aura that kept threatening my sanity.

I am a woman who isn’t enough to be held within the box of mediocrity and rules.

I am love, I am seen and felt fully, I am whole and life, I am a voice and a momentum.

I am a woman whose shadows echo life and light in the dark abyss of life.

Her breaths breathe that every encounter with him is a treasure and blessing uplifting her to royalty.

I am spring that has bore the heat of life’s summer and the chill blast of winter, to die in the autumn multiple times but revive each full moon.

She is a phenomenal woman, a red blood eclipsing moon, with wild and bright phases yet complete and beautiful.

Being on her own, the kingdom of solitude is her power of self awareness and self love.

She metamorphosed into grand ground breaking tales of love, passion, hopes and revival.

Her heart beats with rhythms of sanity mingled with darkness and fierce brutality, she is elixir of life’s poison.

She has the scent of cinnamon summer that the roots of winter absorb.

She is content, free and breathing with ease, the reward of her patience.

She was holding strong to the principle of being respectful and loyal to the pledge of being protective of her boundaries and sanity.

She looks into the mirror, winks at herself, now is the time to evolve into her greatest form.

Well, then,” he said. “Let’s do it.” “What?” Vin asked. “Save the world.” Elend said. “Stop the ash.

All right,” Spook said. He reached to the ground, scooping up a pile of ash. “Let’s just rub this into your clothing and on your face….” Breeze froze. “I’ll meet you back ath the lair,” he finally said.

We flew over to England by the same route Churchill took. It was easy. All we had to do was follow the cigar ashes.

The Passion of the Christ opened up on Ash Wednesday, had a Good Friday.

When it’s time to shuffle off this mortal coil, you leave your ashes to be composted.

When passion is mutual, there is always the danger of the fire burning to ashes.

I have learned that you’re not perfect, and that sometimes the one you love can burn you. But it’s just the fool that’s looking backwards: a bitter heart turns the love we made to ashes.

Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.