Mother of the World

Her eyes sequins of gold and green stained
By the squid ink of torture.
She blinks, the shadows of moons she never sees
Washing across her burnt-out frame.

In the waking hours she moves, breathless.
Gasping for air untarnished,
Air unsullied, air unfettered by the chains
Of the monsters that fumble across her back.

As she slips free from the grasp of
Another restless night, she stretches.
Wiping her wispy arms across her face,
Trying to remember a place she only visited in her dreams.

But she is fading. The light is fading.
She watches it, the kaleidoscope of colour
A mirror of what was. Of the light
Before it faded.

Darkness is translucent. It evades the eye
Until it is upon you. And when it is,
It wraps itself around you like the fingers
Of a breath of air, suffocating and utterly vital.