The Lost

A piece about an old friend...the closest thing to a muse i've known. Written 10-14-09

A presence like the lightning bolt in the hand of Zeus
  and eyes like crystals---
    shining dim and burning cold.

She's lost herself in variations---
  in Illinois and California and
    the rain bleached streets of Seattle.

With bleeding heart she tears at herself
  in shades of gray agony traced with golden hope---
    while shackled to her heartbreaking muse.

Paintbrush touches canvas---
  sticky wet kisses of oil based color---
    images twisted in beautiful contortions of confusion.

Inside herself is where she stays,
  all of her ambition and genius packed tightly
    away as to explode like a new universe...
    tinged with angelic gracefulness and deadly venom.