Monday, January 18, 2016


 I mourn for my past self for she is no more
The sparkle has dimmed as the days grow short
There is a cloud surrounding me
Preventing me from seeing the person I ought to be
My hands, worn from all the days I worked without intention
seem so far away from the ones that used to create magic from nothing
I do not feel that holiness connecting me anymore
There is no ethereal string pulling me through my days
There is only flesh now
Aching, tired, distorted and sedentary
The tiny dancer has gone, along with the mystical artist
They have found a new host
One that isn't as volatile and broken
That can harness them like wild horses and tame them
Until they become an unfamiliar beauty
glowing in the darkness
A speck through the fog
that my unfamiliar hands reach for but can never quite grab.

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