She Dreamed Of Icarus ~ Portrait In Indigo

 

She seemed to be like a delicate 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 colored clouds- with outstretched, feathery fingers...
Lifting her up to dance with him in a beautiful 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 thirsty 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
    They entwined their ragged tassels throughout 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 icy winter night...
Wrapped only in her naked flesh - with open, bleeding indigo wounds
    Standing under the icy, mist of the winter moon...
Her heart and soul painfully revealed - in shades of indigo blue

~

 

 

anne p murray~2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Our history, good or bad is written on our faces each passing day.
But enlightenment comes from within that might change
our appearance to suit life as is needed.

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

(skis) thirsty rain?rich descriptives and flowing form..paints as it says a picture of her..

[Raven Starhawk]

Outstanding. I believe this was a genius display of beauty and awe. Your descriptions are top notch.

[Coyote Poetry]

The second time I read this story. It is beautiful and sad. The myths and the great stories are many for us to enjoy. Your story could be added to a book about beauty and the myths to allow readers to find a different place to relax and hold dreams. Thank you for the artwork and amazing story.
Coyote

[Chris]

Anne - ok, no smoke-blowing, brown-nosing, or a-- kissing...| Just an honesty

Beautiful art... I was enthralled by the words - great choice... but the commas!!!! I read all poetry aloud - I HAD to stop before the end of your poem. I went back to the beginning and started anew - one and two lines at a time and took out a number of them (the commas) and then reread... you have an amazing flow and a wondrous story. And I don't normally use the words amazing or wondrous in a comment.

Take care,
Chris

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Poor Icarus...he climbed to heaven only to crash into the sea and why? He was caught up in the passion of the moment and forgot his father's words of caution...forgot the advice that he knew came from a heart full of love and wisdom...and as the sun's rays melted the wax that held his wings together...only as he began to fall did he remember...too late and called out to his father who could not save him. Poor Daedalus...who gave his son the gift of flight and tried to guide him in their escape to freedom only to lose his precious boy to the passion of youth...how often that story must have been repeated in one form or another....lovely verse here and illustration as well.

[Coyote Poetry]

Artwork and words are amazing. The story brought me in and held me the to last word. I like the emotion and the description. Thank you for the outstanding poem. I like the poetry where the words take me to a better place. Your poem did.
Coyote