Widows Skin Shed

Destain isolation flying across the sea.

Gust of winds blowing the widows skin shed.

Her window view shows the depth truth of a captain’s sunken handicap.

She is a weeping for the pillar,

where the sleepy boy dreams.

Her sharp eyes burn causes by the salt air and no tears are becoming her trait.

She whines for the free touch of sand beneath her toes,

but it still is true that she will never let go.

The boards are surrounding the misery of lost brilliance

and she becomes just as much as that single lip form tear as she is wrinkled bones.

She walks from wall to wall,

then finds her love in the frames painting.

She is hesitate, as years fall past stars.

Her broken fingers grop the bloody reds of the picture.

As she decides to hide the bodies of her love and children down below.

She is hung right there.

Between her rusty eyes and the dried nail holding the painting.