Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

Your verse, a paradox that cuts so deep,

Where flaws dance with the light, secrets they keep.

Beauty a shield, a whispered plea,

"Forgive the dark, for it shaped me."

Is it the brushstrokes bold, the crimson stain,

That paint your canvas with a haunting pain?

Or lines etched fine, where shadows play,

The tapestry of soul, worn in the fray?

Perhaps the sins, confessing in your art,

Become confessions torn straight from the heart.

Each blemish holds a story, dark and bright,

The threads of being, woven in the night.

And so, the beauty that your pen commands,

Redeems the scars, forgives the faltering hands.

It is not grace that makes the demons sleep,

But owning them, the fire you hold deep.

So let the ink flow, wild and free,

Embrace the cracks, the shattered entity.

For beauty forged in shadows' bitter kiss,

Is truth unveiled, the soul's own wilderness.

In every sin, a brushstroke bold and true,

You paint your being, raw and ever new.

And in that honesty, a solace lies,

A whispered pardon in your tear-filled eyes.

So write, dear soul, of darkness and of light,

Let beauty bloom from wounds that pierce the night.

For in the telling, you yourself are freed,

A masterpiece of scars, finally at peace.

Copyright January 5, 2023 by Donovan Baldwin

# posted by Donovan Baldwin @ 6:27 PM