In every poet's heart resides
a tiny dancer, a treasure, a dream.
She is ever delicate, a wisp on the wind.
It is she who determines the air of the poem,
By the arch of her spine,
The curling of her toes,
The sweeping motions that guide her slim legs through the air-
effortlessly.
A swinging, gliding ballroom dance
foretells a poem of adoration and romance.
When she twirls and leaps in the cool night breeze,
Like the feather of a dove, the color of the moon,
A poem of placid peace will sing soon.
When she pirouettes interminably,
Fear in her deep onyx eyes,
A malicious poem of emptiness shall rise.
When she lays her willowy arms down
to her sides,
And her pale, snowy legs fold,
It has been told.
The poem has ceased.
YOU ARE READING
Swept Ashore
PoetryBe swept away in the ocean of poetry, wash ashore in a sanctuary of words, a place where you will be safe from the harsh world of sanity, catch a breath of the sea breezy air, twinged with the insanity that only writers know.
