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Written By David Rayburn
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She floated through floods feeling too much,
Yet photographed reality with a grounded touch.
She battled the ugliness of misunderstood misaligned
sound bites,
But framed still beauty from strange and stained sights.
What blurred for others like the trees walking a trance,
She saw souls in her heart's viewfinder giving each a
chance.
Words dropped heavy when others didn’t understand,
So she spoke through her art with her camera in hand.
She wasn’t neurally wired for the trickery or the double-
talk,
But for soul-speak and for handhold walks.
The chaos of crowds made her lean back on heel,
Yet she'd reach forward with touch and help others heal.
A mind like a mosaic sometimes out of place,
Yet God's fingertip along every fragment traced.
She bore visible and invisible bruises and scars,
Still, she shone polished bright like nighttime stars.
She was wonderfully made with misfired neural fire,
And when moving in music spiralled ever higher.
Neurodiversity surrounded her with social constraint,
But she dressed-up in courage with no naked complaint.
Where paths seemed straight and rules razored right,
She skipped in crooks and curves left while chasing
knowledge light.
Depression clawed and dragged her spirit down,
But never stole her unseen crown.
In lonely silence she sometimes broke,
Yet gave in hugs and encouragement what ancient
prophets spoke.
To be with her was to feel both flames -
The ache of fragmentation and a joy without name.
Rooted deep in Haitian clay,
She carried her ancestors in royal display.
The Temple veil torn, in water she passed through -
What was exiled, through the Christ returns home anew.
In every embrace her presence glows,
Where love still lingers and laughter flows.
A woven garment with tassels, or a spun thread,
She's alive in all memories knitted and in tears shed.
So sing her story with flame and with fear,
For she shaped our reality by Christina drawing near.
Yet photographed reality with a grounded touch.
She battled the ugliness of misunderstood misaligned
sound bites,
But framed still beauty from strange and stained sights.
What blurred for others like the trees walking a trance,
She saw souls in her heart's viewfinder giving each a
chance.
Words dropped heavy when others didn’t understand,
So she spoke through her art with her camera in hand.
She wasn’t neurally wired for the trickery or the double-
talk,
But for soul-speak and for handhold walks.
The chaos of crowds made her lean back on heel,
Yet she'd reach forward with touch and help others heal.
A mind like a mosaic sometimes out of place,
Yet God's fingertip along every fragment traced.
She bore visible and invisible bruises and scars,
Still, she shone polished bright like nighttime stars.
She was wonderfully made with misfired neural fire,
And when moving in music spiralled ever higher.
Neurodiversity surrounded her with social constraint,
But she dressed-up in courage with no naked complaint.
Where paths seemed straight and rules razored right,
She skipped in crooks and curves left while chasing
knowledge light.
Depression clawed and dragged her spirit down,
But never stole her unseen crown.
In lonely silence she sometimes broke,
Yet gave in hugs and encouragement what ancient
prophets spoke.
To be with her was to feel both flames -
The ache of fragmentation and a joy without name.
Rooted deep in Haitian clay,
She carried her ancestors in royal display.
The Temple veil torn, in water she passed through -
What was exiled, through the Christ returns home anew.
In every embrace her presence glows,
Where love still lingers and laughter flows.
A woven garment with tassels, or a spun thread,
She's alive in all memories knitted and in tears shed.
So sing her story with flame and with fear,
For she shaped our reality by Christina drawing near.
