Alchemy
Once again, archaic profession. Only this time, I just wanted an alchemist who was obsessive. Most people thought this poem was too... opaque. Lost meaning, etc. It needs redrafting for my portfolio.
Alchemy
Change is in my blood like
a Painted Lady, stretching
her wings. Cold iron holds
its fascination in transmutation,
and I stare into liquid domes
as they bubble to the surface.
Is it madness, to see gold
in quicksilver depths? No.
I will master it. Bind it
with circle and exchange,
until the Golden Lady’s dances
unfurl only for me.
Alchemy
Change is in my blood like
a Painted Lady, stretching
her wings. Cold iron holds
its fascination in transmutation,
and I stare into liquid domes
as they bubble to the surface.
Is it madness, to see gold
in quicksilver depths? No.
I will master it. Bind it
with circle and exchange,
until the Golden Lady’s dances
unfurl only for me.