Praise the soft muses as they dance
Through the particles of oxygen and smog
With celestial ease
My breath catches
Throat closes
Eyes well
And even if I had the strength to overcome all of that
Simple language would fail me
Bless the muses free and beautiful
Misty rainbows through the thick of clouds
And countless hearts closed and longing
Give thanks
Make offerings of blossoms
Honey
Glittering stones
To honor the angels
Nymph like
Bliss like
As they paint the dreams and plant the seeds
Unfolding our world with the chimes of their laughter
3 comments:
Museum of muses, where each muse dances in winding wind chimes on birkenstock sandals.
And through association everything orbits everything else in a string of gravity. But all is not grave as my menstrual minstrels bleed beautiful lies.
And this is the muse: this twilight time between good and evil --thought and action. The gloaming bare glow of fast moments and long pauses...longing pauses.
Dual purposes to duel and duet. And it won't repost or repeat but it will riposte into sunshine spots on our eyes.
Did you read the misdirections? Because there is no getting out just shallow and deep ends of the pool. Welcome to art...
Comment on the comment from previous A-Non-A-Mouse: Amateurish feable attempts at wordplay that leave the reader wondering if they have just read some 3rd grade students last minute homework submission.
I second the second post. Whomever, had obviously posted several comments on this pretty terrific blog, seemingly trying to out-do the author. An extremely poor attempt, and seemingly written by one who likes to hear themselves speak, instead of actually absorbing what's been read... Go away, idiot!
The poem itself, dear author, is a good one. Not the best here, but not the worst either... Keep it up...
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