A sister’s hand reaches for
The loneliest pick of a feather.
One forlorn smile among a thousand breezes
Shifting the currents, extending the eyes.
As all was the wave crashing down
In the defeated heart where thunder ceases.
A sister’s hand reaching for softness,
Weeping for the mirror, a reflection’s weariness.
Her eyes carve the daggers for the sight,
While her talons are the daggers to her eyes.
One salty sea that exited tearstained lies
Upon the flood that emptied her night.
A hopeless moon, a thousand mornings
Where each farewell was the winter’s ending.
The bird with beak and listlessness
Grew sad for sunshine atop the wilderness.
Burning for love, decided by sickness
To be the vessel that carries her wings.
Love stirs in places beknown to shame
Left off at the sun’s emptiness.
For her grace, skin would crawl
Overboard, to meet the sunlit meadows,
While a smile could never heal –
Not as the thorn that lashes and seals
Her heart of wounds, connected.
A place where warmth holds a candle –
Against her wings, for feathers to blaze
In the sweet afternoon sickness, as sadness fades.
Modern Romanticism 