If you ever paint me, paint me in a storm.
Streak my memory across the swirling sky like streaks of flashing lightning.
Let my echoing be painted as the rain that runs upon their rooftops.
I have felt like a day without a sunset. I am the wailing of an untouched canvas.
My heartbeat reminds me of a crumbling cliff.
It is wild and wicked, but the rumble of it shakes the world.
I am that sound. That silence after the shake.
Hold me here.
I was the memory of the steady flood,
Breaking your home
and leaving you a family to feed.
If you ever paint me, let the dandelions kiss my feet.
Their stems will curl at my coming and their petals will greet my every breath.
I was not their sunlight, but I will be their life.
Paint me sitting upon a field. A creature hungry in strength.
Losing myself like an improvised song.
Depict my spine a column of ancient stones.
I have sat here, shattered for far too long.
Impatience rhyming throughout my melodies.
Paint me holding their slender necks, their tender stems, their hollow spine,
with my shattered hands.
Let both me and my flowers bend in fragile falling.
If you paint me… Remember I can be a mosaic captured in chaos of colors.
Eliezer is a senior studying psychology at Eastern University. He considers himself a collector of stories and a lover of words. He aims to make images and sounds dance together sweetly.
Inklings Literary Magazine 