A consort in canvas

“Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.”

Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 3: Dream Country

 

There are ashes whirled by a paintbrush stroke,

Crisp and accurate, where memory’s eye fails,

The blurred blush across her cheek,

Is where no longer can the painter recall,

Which action caused the merry glow.

 

The hazy candlelight is dim over her hair,

The strands do not shimmer as they used to,

Nor does it catch a twinkle in the crook of her eye,

They are dead and dull and blackened,

By the ending of trustful times.

 

It was a beautiful dream the painter captured,

A relationship of companions, friends and laughter,

That by the end had petered dry,

Broken by the illusive lie.

 

One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious? C G Jung

 

 

 

 

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