Paint me into your mirror

I am a reflection, nothing more

this is apathy’s gift

for I no longer am whole.


Paint me into your memory

an apparition, nothing more

hollow within

no substance and no soul


shape me back into being:

carve me from the granite of your heart;

with sighs breathe life into me—

Your chisel still has a use.

Sculpt me upright, standing tall

and holding roses in my hand

fragrant, seductive


©1999 - 2024  Mary Barnett / Moodesigns