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She seemed to be like a portrait...
   which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned...
   Lying face down on the empty, cold wintry floor. 
An elegantly created portrait once painted in striking hues of indigo blue.
   Her eyes told a story of  bittersweet, magenta colored sorrows
That etched themselves throughout the frail, intricately woven canvas of her soul
 
Over time...
   Thoughtless hands subtly contrived and manipulated the beauty of her painted portrait Into a resemblance -  likened to that of a cold chiseled statue
   Calloused, careless fingers molded her - lancinating the fragile fragments of her spirit
Leaving her heart with the etoliated, worn material - called her life                     

She dreamed of Icarus - soaring down on steel wings
   Shrouded in cobalt, magenta clouds- with outstretched, feathery fingers...
Lifting her up to dance with him in a Stravinsky ballet...
   As it is was meant to be
Not how it was                
 
She was a beautiful, delicate butterfly...
   Bruised by many shadows in her world
Leaving her unable to fly away from its thirsting arid rain filled skies
   It left her struggling to stay afloat in the spring's melting snow
 
Life had bruised her tender skin...
    Gnawing away like insatiable insects on her delicate pink frescoed soul
Leaving her feeling like a fabricated, plastic manikin on display...
    For all to pose her as they selfishly may
 
Muddied soil was the blood that coursed through her veins
    Holding her tethered heart in fleshy, lumpy mounds of dark, chocolate brown earth 
It held her helplessly clogged in the dirt...
    That descended down in the empty spaces of her soul...
Like the muddied strings of yellow, tattered maize 
    That entwined their ragged tassels through her life flowing veins...
Choking off the blood she needed to nourish her weakened, hungry heart 
 
Mighty winds toppled her willowy, limber tree...
    Snapping the delicate boughs of her arms
As it pulled at the fleshy bark of her skin
    She stood cold and alone in the cold wintry night...
Wrapped only in her naked flesh - with open, bleeding indigo wounds
    Standing under the icy, mist of the cold, winter moon...
Her heart and soul painfully revealed - in shades of indigo blue
 



 LadeeAnne~C@2011 

 Anne P Murray
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