An Ancient Paintbrush Bled Poem by Michelle Claus

(Villanelle)

An ancient paintbrush bled
on a slab of weathered stone
to save the never-dead

its bristles dipped in red
its handle carved from bone.
An ancient paintbrush bled

to pictures – body, head
of creatures – flesh and moan –
to save the never-dead.

Of early man, it is said,
survive or die alone.
An ancient paintbrush bled.

But early man instead
in effigy did clone
to save the never-dead

for he – and she – were led
by Soul’s eternal drone.
An ancient paintbrush bled
to save the never-dead.

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