Helen Schmidt Fine Art

Ember

The cloak I have worn

grows heavy, Dear One

Help me to lift this mantle

Open my soul to the night sky

and scatter my limbs

like rustling leaves

to the heavens

What need have I of appendages?

I crave the radiant ember of the core

Burning from the inside out

its flame becomes a funeral pyre

A conflagration of the non-essential

whose sparks rise into the heavens

and dissolve

so gently

in this ocean of sky

 

Comments are closed.