You gather me up with your artist’s hands,
Digging into the cold earth,
And slowly bring me to the surface.
Gasping for air,
My new-born eyes squinting in the dappled sunlight.
Your slender fingers wrap around my spine,
Playing a song on every vertebrae,
Until I stand up straight.
Your knuckles knead my knotted back,
Like a soldier marching to the drums,
Regular, rhythmic, soothing.
You breathe life into my lungs,
Drain out the coalesced rain drops,
A sigh of fresh musk-roses.
You drag your nails across my arms,
Raising tiny ghouls in their wake.
Dormant spirits that lay in wait for aeons.
We stand with our toes embracing the soil,
Our backs to the gnarled limbs of evil trees.
Our faces towards powdery peaks,
Balanced on which lie echoes of ancient promises
That fall to their end as we shout as loudly as our throats permit.
Fire-works shoot across golden sunsets,
A wolf sings his children to sleep,
Fireflies form constellations for those bound to the earth.
And we stand.
Two disfigured souls joined together by harmonic chords.
Your artist’s hands entwined with mine,
And we are almost home.


9 thoughts on “Almost home

    1. Thank you so much!
      And not so much creating as piecing together broken fragments to form something more beautiful than the original; as only an artist could do!
      But yes, the broken fragments do constitute both the soul and body 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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