Rubaiyat for Maya

[Leanne]

Where, in windswept passages, she waits
with chest torn open; crows approaching, Fates
to share the feast, their wisdom left behind.
Beneath the ice, her shadow congregates

with pigments. From the stone and blood they grind
the colour for a canvas too refined
to leave the earth; and from her fingers drips
the chrism that is honesty defined.

She straightens, sets a smile upon her lips
and builds the world anew. With care she strips
the scales from eyes, the thorns from foot and hand,
and weaves them into thread. She sighs and snips,

the pattern forms. It twists to her command;
a thousand shining hues replace the bland.
The harmonies in all that she creates
spread joyfully across her reborn land.


*This was written specifically for a friend of mine -- I'm not sure if it works as a standalone poem.  Please let me know.

[billy]

think you've played around with the format since i last read this (and no i can't remember where) the rhyme scheme certainly does but your forms are always nigh spot on; no surprise there.
it works for me, it reads as a tapestry of very special person who is connected to the narrator.

you changed the format on me you twat i think it more fits the form as it is than as it was.

[Leanne]

I had horrible trouble copy-pasting from Word. It went all stupid on me so I had to just type it straight in.

Cheers billy

[just mercedes]

I like it - love that you tied the end rhyme back to the first, and I really like the description of a person's life. I'm a weaver so I always respond to weaving - another Penelope maybe. But also the Three Sisters. Good poem.