A paradoxical work of art,
Beautiful colors and weeping pain,
Inner battles leaving bruises
Which only love detects.
Eager lips so crushed and bruised,
Searching for unknown gentleness,
Eyes full of fear and doubt,
Seek hints of happiness and hope.
Her very blood the ink
Dripping from her stained fingers,
Placing raw truths upon life's page,
Calling it poetry.
Her burdens made beautiful,
By her proud bearing of truth,
Stepping out from shame and shadow,
To dance wildly in the moonlight.
And, as they judge and whisper,
She, lost in her innocent dissonance,
Turns and sees a smile upon lips,
Which desire to kiss her gently.
Together they, two broken angels,
Weave their stories into one,
An epic poem of love which took long to come,
But found their home at last.
Donovan Baldwin