Luminescence
Only going around the moon,
where to the eclipse I feed homage
to keep my heart in my fingers;
there pallor in the empiricism of
burning conscience lifts
to look on a dark spot—
in the hallways of my soul.
My thought would be alone inside—
the polished floor with broken
frames.
Couldn't I stand unappalled
for my scars, then absolute
them in ocean salt? There,
walks no line...
just phantasms in silver,
that harvest the beauty
of dreams.
Within twisted vines,
out of their depth—
a shaded rose grows.
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2023
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