As if returning from a gothic dream, finding image like...

As if she went wayward,
As if on her
Shoulder a dragon spit a fire...
As if she was walking a phantasm like,
As if she lost her lawful sight...

And then howled, screamed, scratched to pains
Found her losing sense
Of light...

And then
By God's providence,
There breaking the dark
A little ray of light fell
Upon her fingers straight
Which could deconstruct the spell...

And the blood there on her cheeks came,
She became

O how she got 


 (note:- on a poem by a friend, Sue Lobo...and the painting , though attached to her poem, is not hers, it is of course by a prolific painter no doubt, regrettably, the name of the painter is not known to me,)


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