Morning came unbidden with
chained thoughts, slaved to
this white page...it speaks to
me in whispered secret silence.
Which words am I allowed to write,
for I, like you, start and end in...
silence. Between, is the madness
of poetry and its dance...dance for me.
Am I not in the harem of the world...
in mysterious darknesses of corners...
veiled ancientnesses beckoning, teasing...
in the dewdropp of a buttercup...
wrapped in cotton candy circuses
of words ferris wheeling, until, poetic
ride taken, alight in dizzyness, silence.
Leaving chained words on white pages
Of poetry...finished,
Done.
Strains of silent music...
the dance begins again.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silent-circus/
