A burned strawhat, heated coals, the occasional sunrise, I replied.
You couldn't handle the disarmament of a dream,
as if leading me through the wrecked forest of a child's dream
would redeem our innocence, You swearing by moonlight that
there were no more wolves to fear. But moonlight fades fast
and your smile lost its truth, your hand lost mine and we walked onward,
This dream should be so telling, the queen and her cardmen or
did you think they were bushes? Candy corn fences -
something out of another fairytale where the ending is telling, wanted.
All the kings horses and all the kings men (yes, that is what they are,
knights on horses, full speed ahead!) couldn't put this puzzle together
The secret of glass being, like a wave, the wind and love,
it only exists once in its present state, like our skin and selves.
And once broken or altered can never actually, truly be mended -
once shattered, always torn -
which is why a glass cut will remind you of a broken heart.
So when you ask me when I see through this broken glass,
I will tell you I see you, labouring under all illusions
of didactic warnings and happy endings. You by the fire,
altering, smoldering this, attempting to make it whole again.
Today I painted for the first time in months and my brushes are ick and I need some practice, but it felt marvelous. This piece is over one of the paintings I did today.