The tree had fallen, there was no sign of conflict no sign of struggle, just the roots separated from the ground as though it somehow knew it did not exclusively belong to this earth.
It looked at me from eyes tangled deep within the quiet of its husk.
Its soul was beginning to wander and the bird who knew this tree became a witness to its death.
(in-between the silence and the grave)
Secrets grounded into shadows and my desire for you still feels like sandpaper upon my tongue, ____ vampires in my soul.
(Sorrow is not translatable)
So, you said you wanted me to write you a poem, it’s harder than I thought it would be.
Sometimes I feel like that fallen tree.
The birds came they had no messages only feathers, eyes and mythology.
The Raven lingered above the dying wood starring into the void as I wrote this poem.
Sometimes things end as they should ____ this is my poem for you.
Love leaves its mark upon the soul.
Long after the moment has passed,
the imprint remains.
'We are forever
Stranded Hearts'
Not every stranger is unknown.
An Artist Journal reflection on the daydream places that feel remembered, the spiritual recognition held in a glance, and the dark feminine visual poetry I create from those inner worlds.
