she blurted out synchronized notes,
that was at the time
and still unheard of.
her story, her life,
her entire being,
ripped from the fabrics
that mankind lives in.
Her children will breathe
but remain in disbelief,
her grandchildren will never hear her name,
and her great-grandchildren will be blinded
from all that she accomplished.
The music that lived in her
died with her in the end.
And she will never be heard of,
to those generations and generations after.
Her legacy will be written in white,
on white paper,
and printed on blank stones,
while angels above cry acid rain.