Nymph

Dust lies on the monarch wings
That rise from out her gentle back.
Hands that grip the stuff of dreams,
Sitting folded in her lap.
Sunset hair shot through with gold
Bound by flowers red and black.

Softer steps than light itself,
Her feet tread silent in the dusk.
Creature caged to be forgott’n,
Captured by their splintered trust;
While sunlight plays behind her eyes,
The silver confine melts to rust.

A smile paints her icy lips,
She taunts the shadows with her thoughts
And laughs as they begin to stir
With all her tears and clever knots.
A gypsy’s dance and then she’s gone
Lost somewhere deep beneath the plot.

©2012, Michelle Lowe. All Rights Reserved.