I came to live in the ruins of my body it would not answer--whispered a passing fancy a storm that would not stay the night Ringlets of featheres, curtains of ash water washing trails of lumbering beasts thirsty as owls for blood White -- or dappled as ponies on a shield of swords -- their hooves burst into flames. I am ashamed of their bones, how they poke through the flesh, memories fresh as wounds, fields strewn with stones white as milk as the lost teeth of childhood dreams.
30×24 Oil on canvas. I scraped this off… liked it better. Some red spatters added.
9×12 Pen and Ink, watercolor
14×11 Pen & Ink
Shared from a post on FB
If you’re lucky in this life, a window appears on a battlefield Between two armies. And when the soldiers look into the window They don’t see their enemies, they see themselves as children And they stop fighting and go home and go to sleep. When they wake up, the land is well again. -- Carmen Penny (4th grader, Houston, Texas)