Victoria Bassett-Wilton

My heart is a bright and shivering star,
infected with moonbeams of melancholy
and shards of secret longing.

It wanders the plains of existence,
these ethereal dimensions of
hidden possibility, screaming its
call to the world,
echoing out its purpose and function
which only ink could ever express.

It is a vibrant and stunning thing,
adorned with angel’s wings,
which give it aching flight in the
darkness it endures.

And always, always,
roaring, whispering, murmuring
its promise,
its point for reality, calling out
with an absence of hesitation

Fearful to stop its tread,
lest it miss the sunlit explosion
that it surely leaves in its wake,
but still subject to the magnificent masters
of Time’s fractal state.