I am a 65 year old woman living with schizophrenia.
My poetry is an expression of my inner self and my way of coping with difficult times and enjoying good times through my writing and artwork I have found a place for myself in this world.
The sun is a woman made of clay
She stands above the mountaintops against a red velvet sky at dawn.
Her skin tone, earthy-hued radiates from afar-
Though chipped around the edges she is still my friend
Nothing I believe can be flawless and her smile is crooked, but sweet.
Her eyes, when wide opened are always filled with awe, wonder and surprise.
A woman molded from clay has skin toned mahogany hued.
Chipped around the edges, she is forever rugged,
Always fighting through the dense fog at dawn.
When days and nights are dreary I cast my eyes about the sky,
And I search for the sun, that awesome woman made from clay.
Her warm earthy tones are calming and
The radiance of joy that she exudes is always comforting.
It is when the full moon rises at dusk that I lose my grounds,
And hear spoken words that others do not hear=
And sometimes I see horrific sights that others do not see.
While the light of the moon is stark the sun’s earthen tones are not garish.
I wander about daily and search for this earthy toned woman called “The sun.”
She would smile her crooked smile at me with thanks that I am her worshipper.
She is my forever friend and shall never be fickle as is the moon,
Waxing and waning past midnight bringing out in me thoughts that are not truly real.
In the darkness I run from all- as I live in fear.
I live in fear but when the sun looks down upon me with her loving eyes,
And when that crooked smile appears upon her face
I am so enticed by her pulchritude; those disturbing thoughts are just whisked away
Within the early April’s warming breeze.