With Gold In Her Eyes
She is alchemy and knows the secret ways
That turn sorrow into forms of art.
She sees your awful, limping progress
As you lurch slowly, painfully onwards,
Brings music to transform your ugly gait
Into some sort of dance move.
She says yes, she does see the blood
Seeping from your wounds as you dance
But look how the droplets fall as petals
See how you make autumn leaves, fine fruit.
Where you knew death, there is life
When Alchemy speaks she turns doubt into truth.
The wounded, staggering last desperate effort –
At her word becomes possibility.
No dead end after all, but a shift
In the story journey.
She is Alchemy, and makes words of your art
And art of your words.
No distance greater than a thought.
The wound closes in your side
You paint the sky with roses, or tiny red birds
Or giant crimson dragonflies.
You paint the sky with promises and hope.
(Art by Dr Abbey, words by me. Our first collaboration in a long time. The writing was inspired by a combination of the picture, and a comment from Edrie Edrie about the alchemy of turning sorrow into art.)