Surrounded by darkness
That covers the light
With a fog
That looks like spirits
Silently slithering
to steal what is good.
The blackness consumes,
And yet I bloom
From the scars
That tatter my skin
Like ink etched into parchment.
The scars hurt,
Have stained a piece of my soul,
But there is beauty in brokenness.
A song to be sung
From the lips of the saddened
Who are determined to rise
Out of the ashes of this world
Like a phoenix
Who’s just been waiting
To spread their wings.
The Blonde Quill 
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