The chaos was too much for itself
And what more can I do?
She sits from one hour to the next
Pinching at the skin of her arms and wrists
Needing somewhere else to go
For you to recreate some easing sense of hope
There’s a mist of old promises
Forgotten dynasties of gold
She is in search of what was a soul
Of what became a memory then its faceless ghost
But its signs are timeless, swept up in sacred sands
Of the first and most forgiven of sunsets
The painting is one I finished yesterday. I’ve no idea what it is, but I had in mind a moth or butterfly like figure seeking the light or reuniting with it (or hoping to). The poem is from a collection separate from my other stuff that I’ve named “The Scraps”…lol That’s really all they are. Loose ends I’ve actually finished tying up as of today.