For My Sister
She makes snakes eat themselves;
Recoil into an ouroboros,
As if evil sat upon a shelf full of twinned elves,
Swallowing shame while wearing a lucid dress.
Blonde has never seemed so bright,
Beneath a fairy’s helm made of sun,
Clashing with the shine of light,
Challenging night before it had begun.
A god is that which a mind has made,
To trick what’s real with virtue,
In order to cast beyond the shade,
Of shadow meaning truth for you.
Then lack of light thereof before me,
Is but a plea for empty space to fill,
That which I wish to before self see,
Not anatomy but silhouettes of will.
A lack of light that’s been there before,
Erin, you’ve filled within the void,
Something once that was no more,
You fixed that which has been destroyed.
Thank you, sister, for your loving scowl,
Towards the evil with your purple owl.
Copyright © Brendan J. Simons | Year Posted 2019