This is a poem I wrote about an experience I had a couple Christmases ago when my mom had breast cancer (She’s better now). I forced it into a sonnet once, so it’s bit more rhymey than my usual style.
Paint chips, worsted dye drips through the cracks of the splintered table. Wailing breaks through the silence of her hope.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Surrounded by smothering crushing velvet, she can hardly breathe. Her soul worn out and frayed at the seams.
Escaping from the siren’s call she cries. Giving up on caring about her dreams, while she lingers on memories of singed wings.
Out in the night the stars sing, knowing that the dawn will not be disturbed by ghosts. Her heart is awakened and beating, she finds herself longing to be pursued by the heavenly hosts.
For a moment she quits striving and adventure calls deep into her essence. Alone yet closer, her hope sparks to life. There in the darkness her despair is cured, and her ugliness melts as the baffled hymn plays into her heartstrings.
For the Wayward Hearts 
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