Kamilla Czastka Painting

Mira on the funeral pyre

12 years, 40 days ago

The eyes of the deepest sorrow expire. The view draws circles under a skull, which fed on pills. Obscures is the contrast of pleasures. Madonna-embodiments presence ensnares the three figures who stole their flesh and blood in order to recompense them abundantly. Not yet matured for rewarding, she deprives its force. Because the one who promised her power to give broke. Destiny creates grace, the same curse of beautiful stones. Slowly let the grant, built for them stages.

Mira!

The way is ready for you! Go and burn!

The fire ignites. The fire burns slowly into the cornea of your feet. Because Your grace is disturbing! Your glance, your looking down on the world is still too raw. But soon the polished Your eyes glazed awareness are free. Exempt from any fetter You lean you close to the stake.

Mira! Look! Of the burdening hope escaped, dressed you the veil of the derangement of your dreams!

The bashfully sight of mercy, checking, but not seeing, will be fall like a dry mud. Only you experience conscience when your children's eyes find peace in you - what they can not.  A peace that you have hoped for of them.

Exposed to the fire heat your heart explodes in your chest and your tears that you weep, are not able to rescue your heart. Those who tried to interfuse the expression of your eyes,  left up from you. They are stigmatized by the sparks of your fire.

Burn down, you, beautiful Mira. Otherwise they will be blind, who you attached to the pyre. Now they are going to tumb themselves,  till the memory of you no longer hurts.

K.C.