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anne p murray Apr 2013
She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
   which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
   An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
   magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
   The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul

Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
   Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
   Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
   Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
   With etiolated worn fabric - called her life

She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
    on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
    with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
    As it was meant to be - not how it was

She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
    bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
    leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow

Life had bruised her tender skin
   Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
   Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
   For all to pose her as they may

Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
  through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
  It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
  Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
  Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
  Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart

Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
  Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
  As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin

She stood cold and alone
  In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
  With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
   In shades of indigo blue
Jimmy Karnidge Dec 2014
The feel of the vehicle, bitter from the night
Blue light on the dash
Whirring of gears as the glass rolls
Eight air fresheners hang loose from the mirror
Holding on to your memory

Grabbing for the pack of death
And lighting another nail in the coffin
reticence clawing at his ears
The memory of your mirth fueling the fire
Indigestion strikes like a knife to the side
Held by your slender hand

The laughter shared obsesses the heart
Beating with such vigor and plight
Mind tripping on compromised pasts
Tender is the ghoul from the nail
Circling his head like a noose
Bound by your memory

In remembering solace
To ease his concern
Taking comfort in his rusted cage
Seat embracing him
Upholstered in stained fabric
Shedding light on shadowed nights of old

His memory of you fades
No longer lancinating
No longer choking
In taking solace in the void that has become your memory
An old one, written during a darker time.

— The End —