The Saviour

Broken beyond repair, 
While I lingered at his chair,
I couldn’t take him from his world.

I pitied the subject that faced him,
That watched his frown and moustache grim,
No, I just couldn’t take him yet.

I’d never seen one, that seemed worse in life than death,
The shell of a once artist, now painting with slow breath,
It would be cruel, even for me, to take him now.

I’m out of practice sure,
But it just might be the cure,
So I begin to play for him.

My bone white fingers barely clutch the fine stick,
A haunting sound escapes the violin, but it might just do the trick,
To fix the soul that’s shattered like glass.

Light began to fill his eyes,
How queer this might’ve looked otherwise,
A man brought back to life by Death. 

Hey everyone! Sliding past the fact that this is my first upload in quite a while, here’s the ekphrastic poem I wrote in my creative writing class at school. Ekphrasis is essentially the description of a form of art, in my case, a painting. I’ll leave it at that, considering how much work I have yet to do to prepare for my finals … wish me luck 💀

Until we meet next,
A Hurricane with a Heartbeat