The Light-chaser

She runs, pen chained to inked feet
Dripping, dragging the trail behind.
It weighs her wings,
Rain spatters her tiny dress,
Dropping edges kiss the ground

Something in her stoop rings the end,
Something in her hand speaks the burden
The cloak, hangs green in delicate frame,
Hair in tendrils finger soft skin

Eyes bore from within,
Tracing scores in the wallpaper
Where nails screamed freedom
Through the patterns.

She is the fairie,
The dream, the captured and frozen,
She is the light-life,
The filtered, flickering thought
That flutters against your walls

She is the delicate, the intricate,
The dropped and overlooked.
The blushing venturer,
The light-chaser with the seared wings.