The easel hangs uneasy on shaky tripod hinges,

its perfect silhouette a backdrop to my imperfect thoughts.

The canvas is full of false starts and forced emotion,

washed somewhat clean again and again by the water of indecision.

Morning greets me with kisses and tempts to tease

the thoughts lying just out of reach.

With wispy tendrils of will and waning strength, I stretch.

Questing fingers grip this sword I wield to paint

the faded memories of lives not lived awaiting birth -

my Brush, the unwilling midwife and Pariah,

gifted to witness imagined pain eternally.

Soft footsteps stir my reverie and break my concentration.

A day like any other I turn to her annoyed,

“What is it now? Another apple? Perhaps a pear this time?”

She gives voice to her sibilant smile and whispers

sweet wisdom in my ear, “eat and know the answer.”

I give myself a mental shake

and shrug temptation to partake.

I paint instead.

The mute struggle now stamped and etched in fresh paint;

wet potential streams the face of virgin Canvas,

violated -

by the adolescent hands driven not by true love

but by fear of the unsung, the unwanted, the unknown.

I came too late, the stains on what I thought pure,

tongued aside by past indiscretion, only ego remains.

Taunted and tortured,

my will now bleeds in this iron maiden.

I hold the cup of water high,

a shield for errant self expression.

In it, clean and crystal, pure,

another try at taming my aggression.

I hold it to the canvas,

my water of indecision.

I look again,

the shield now gone, a sword instead -

gorged on rampant paint, aborted births too many to count.

The tears flow unabated by self consciousness.

They feed the tree that grows -

inside of me. 

It waits to see

if I can be

truth set free.

I feed on the dilapidated remains of temptation offered by She,

Like jewels without blemish they wink at me,

the apples.

Journey through infinite sky

On a comet, birthed by tears from the Creator’s eye,

as She thought love into existence,

and the Other whored resistence,

In the apple that fell from a lie.

Twas the time that we spent,

Without knowing intent,

Far removed from the words of Her Song.

Frozen spirit disintegrates

the Fractal of life; incandescent,

as the Breath of life,

takes the Gift inside -