Soft sun on broken webs
Cooing tenderly at the destruction
Marvelous artistry in scraps
Flowing in the rough winds with fragile grip
One builder knew this was the place
Setting up holy hallways in the avenues of boards on balconies were families will rarely linger
And so close to grasses, juicy with living sacks to nourish of the prospects of children
My heart of webs flows truly as the dead web before me
Yet immaculate, unconstructed
I see the fetid efforts before I see them thrive
No good, I was instructed to say
no good
and yet why did I listen?
I learned in spring that it was no voice
there was no face which shot these words at me like lightning upon stone
No, I’ve been told I am so good
By so many warm smiles
so good at what I do
So who is it that whips my ambition into smoke?
Who is it that bites my attempts like the famished on Christmas turkey?
Who is it that chants violently that I am worthless in my dreaming states when most only think of stars?
I’ve known I was the source alone
So broken but I doubt that the caverns of hateful lava spilled brightly over my being
I chipped my way through cold rock
And since whispered to myself daily
“So good, I agree. Now, take another step. The sun will warm your creations yet”.
Written by Sarah C Louise
Sarah C Louise 