Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Evanescent,

your soul’s repose,

laden down with regret,

mired as before, in misery

Exile,

your world, shrunken down,

cleaves itself upon a mirror,

your imagination, condemned and

nailed to a tree, consumes its silence,

you, left for dead

shed your skin,

you, your ideal left

hanging upon the hill,

stumble free, aphotic,

re-imagined