The dancer sways oiled and inked, no doubt her sparks
will displace their feathery attempts to capture her golden soul.
These others have an unfillable hole, a wanting so
wet, their need shamelessly sprays into the crowd,
A crowd tied to another voyage, closed to these interloppers.
They rise as one shooting off words: crazed couriers without mercy.
The others wander off, growing more feeble with each broken step.
The others wander off, growing more feeble with each broken step.
The dancer recalls drinking Lethe. Surviving to dance her.
Mishla
III
A great collection of words this week!
ReplyDeleteI actually just discovered 'Lethe' the other day when investigating something for another piece for another prompt. Cool word!
ReplyDeleteThanks for visiting my short verse site. I don't post my Sunday Whirl pieces there. I used to post them here, but blogger didn't like me adding too much to one page or post. But you can get to the latest story verses by the Mr. LINKY at the Whirl.
Still the same me though, Jules (JulesPaige)
A lovely lilting piece, Mishla.
ReplyDeletePamela
TY, Jules for reading this poem. I couldn't see Mr. Linky this Sunday - I will try again.
ReplyDeleteHi Pamela and TY!
ReplyDeleteA lovely poem and nicely titled too
ReplyDeleteMuch love...
Curiously sensuous as it is read. I quite enjoyed this piece.
ReplyDeleteHi Gillena, TY for reading!
ReplyDeleteHi Old Egg, Ty for the curiously sensuous. :]
ReplyDeleteI think we can read this as a metaphor for life...nice use of the words, Mishla.
ReplyDeleteVictoria, yes and Ty for your insight.
ReplyDelete