Strange

Strange

I must be strange.
That weird girl.
Covid raging,
people dying.
Maybe I shut out
the reality.
Maybe my eyes
see only the beauty
in the world,
when I should weep
and mourn
the ugliness.
But how can I
bear to paint
black
that which sets
free my soul,
as I bask in
the light?
My ears may
not hear the cries
of trauma,
but my soul does,
and I paint them
silent,
and pen them into
translucent echoes.

I must be strange.
That weird girl.
Covid raging,
people dying.
Maybe I shut out
the reality.
Maybe my heart
sees only the goodness
in the world,
when I should pray
and cry for
the desperation.
But how can I
bear to sing
in rhythms of dissonance,
that which sets
free my heart,
as I dance in
the light.
My soul may not
dance with
demons,
but my mind
sees,
and I shut my eyes
and paint the pictures
and write the words
and live in
my kaleidoscope bubble.

Sarah Drury. 2021

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