In shadows of yesteryear, she dances alone.

A silhouette of pain, a spectre
etched in moonlight’s shadow;
wearied by the turbulence of a heart’s distress,
of cascading sorrows veiled in tears.

A labyrinth of longing,
entwined in a chilling mist she wavers.

Once a portrait of grace, now weathered oak
scarred by the hunter’s axe;
her canvas frayed against relentless storms,
vibrant hues fade and erase an identity.

Her roots warmed by soil’s embrace,
while twisted branches stretch upwards
and resilient blooms flourish,
her spirit dented but unbroken;
navigating recovery’s winding road of echoing fears,
yet still in darkness, her soul finds hope.

The enduring thread tethers her core,
like the rings of that ancient oak.

A mosaic of crafted light,
where intricate patterns interlace with time;
each stitch fortified by fears faced and conquered,
for life’s but a tapestry,
and she—the fabric on its loom.

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Louisa Prince, a self-proclaimed late bloomer, living in Melbourne, Australia who enjoys the rewards of writing poetry. One of her poems appeared in Wingless Dreamer’s “Hey there Delilah!” anthology.