Find Me

This is a beautiful poem I missed months ago. The imagery reminds me so much of the inner experience of our dark journey.

A Wise Woman Writes

There is no quiet in the wicked night
Where shadows are birthed
Writhing through sleep shrouded eyes
Rousing her into aphotic collection
Impelled toward dark thorn forest
Seizing her decrepit parody
Limbs whip her pallid face
A splatter of red
Highlights her gaunt essence
Believing hue can conceive dream
Silently licking blood not blood
From her lips~
Don’t go
Don’t go
Don’t go

Her world is on fire
She walks with the dead
Beguiling her way
An orphan in scorched gown
Calloused feet her only confidant
Ashes expose the course
Fate gave without cause
Washed to dirt in places where ghosts
Followed too close
Effigies suck her last gasp of air
And whisper through wisps
Of singed hair~
You are lost
You are lost
You are lost

She is sick from pining
Existing of the old, fragile and frail
Archaic from ages of bondage
Possessed by fiends of the inferno

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