3 of 56

by Sarah Terzo

Dark days in my dusty studio
my vision cobweb-choked,
rank reek of smoke.
Amber leaking bottles tipped
on the stained thin rug.

I could drown
in these broken dreams
this chaos-ridden life
these stained memories
that slouch in corners like
rat's shadows.

But when I touch canvas
she is there
fiery red and phoenix wild
Her form, like flames
called up from broken sticks.
Birthed from a strange seed
somehow nurtured in
the barren desert of my soul.
In her eyes, I see the knowledge that

I will live.

I will summon strength to swim
through life's gray ocean
For like a thousand men before
she will save me.

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Poetry: The muse

by Sarah Terzo

Poetry: The muse

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