Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Epiphany

I can attach my entire existence
to the golden bleed of sun
through the whisp-staccato
edges of a cloud

Such moments steal my breath.

I can spiral into corners
and come out of them
painting with words.

I can feel the energy
flowing from life breathing life
paralleling, combining, releasing.

Epiphany moments, what hides
in plain sight, screaming
“mental illness” at the world —
are simply the inner workings
of a poet.

How many have suffered
without knowing
how to hone illness to craft?

The poets, the writers, the painters
the builders, the sculptors, the dreamers —
the artists — art underway, swimming thoughts
in color and form, rising up
— rising up into birth, rebirth
— intrinsic beauty.

Let the cells within me
shift and fold into
that burning, golden
sun.


Christina Ward 🌼 is a poet, columnist, and nature writer from North Carolina. Stay in touch!

You can follow her poetry at Fiddleheads & Floss Poetry.