The Mayfly’s Plight
Ephemeral as a mayfly’s plight, joy rends,
memorable for the rarity of its existence.
Sadness, and death feast on our meager frames;
madness picks its rancid teeth with our bones.
Fire kissed child, sister mine don’t go, I know you
tire, but I can’t let you leave. I claw the canvas
plane of virgin white, recall your shadowed stare,
feign gifted artistry to immortalize your soul.
What do you see beyond the vale where color bleeds?
Cut lilies now lay round you in the winter’s snow.
How erect you sat, how comforting your given hand
endow within each thought of you forgiveness, grace.
I could not save you, he could not save you, God on
high would not save you and it was not my place.
The Ekphrastic Review
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