These pieces scattered about
Shattered about your knees
That you gather in your hands
And strain eyes and furrow brow to see
Are they a painting or a
Photoed face – I think
I see the corner of a
Mouth – and did that eye blink?
Hard within your shell
Sitting apart in your corner
You always were a quiet girl –
Not really living in the real world
Lady in the tower weaving
Turning from her task and leaning
Out towards the window leaving
Her shell, her prison, life.
Assembling the pieces of
The broken mirror – blades of
Glass slice skin and flow blood –
The fragments move – the pictures change
Look away from this broken
Image – this deserted place –
Take joy to ease your mourning
Beauty for the ashes of your face.
My friend for over 30 years now sent this poem in response to my picture (above) I thought it was an excellent and beautiful piece of work and deserved to be seen by more people.
We used to edit the University Arts Magazine together back in the dim and distant past.
Would that we could still be doing the thing we most enjoy now… But life has a nasty habit of taking you over and depositing you somewhere you never imagined.
C’est La Vie C’est La Guerre as Victor Hugo Once put it.
Thanks for this Steve.