hand of god
attuned to draw
miraculous inundations
the diabolical questions eroding
doubts forecasting
climate of clarity-
plumed, the soul tarnishing in violet streaks
festering in the heart of my shrine
blooming upon me
the newly becoming
the framework of a woman
I see flickering
there was a moment that I felt I believed in her
she is intending to give birth- the portal has opened
she steps through to you
all curses removed- her flowers destined- they grew- whether or not they knew
I find her sometimes in the emptiness of the garden-
whimpering other times snickering
she dances in orbs- splendidly-
a thorn in her tendon- a grimace- she does not bleed
her pain is opportunity – she fathoms now her threshold
what was once a gestalt
now all the eye can see
beheld and infinite
a light is born
and from her, the stems are nourished
she breathes into
life from the endless source
and from her follicle a dove coos
strands glorifying what she is made of
only hope could know
from love she has been bestowed
If you like this article, check out:https: //stories.harnessmagazine.com/look-at-me/
