Depths.

Shadow
Automatons dance
On gently stirred
Air
Like motes of
Mother’s dust
Eternally agitated
By the motion of
Movement –
A rollick of
Memories born
To flesh
And the forgotten
Yesterdays
Which whisper their
Foreboding tale
On vibrational staircase
Winding ever upward
To lofty tomorrows.
She pirouettes in place,
Her thick-tufted
Pajamas clinging to
Thighs whose
Regresses and egresses
Have become more
Shapely with children
And baring the weight of
Many men
Who would give her
Their burdens to
Carry
Like water vessels
On her back,
In her heart and mind,
On her soul.
The stars and crescent moons
Bend and bunch
In places which
Attract and distract the light
And in symphony with
Grace
Do there create
Winding roads
And lonely paths
Many have wandered
After the lights of
Day have retreated behind
Expectant moons.
What use have
You of me?
She asks the shadows
As they swirl about
Her and she gathers
Them like fish
Caught in the net of
Her flaxen hair.
What use have I
Of your echoed
Lament?
She does not hide
The abyss of her
Seas
But only those
Who venture into
The bed of placid
Deep
May find that
Treasure which she
Keeps.
There is no binding
Nor secret map,
She offers her stores
With open access
But few should wish
To see
That which could be
Inwardly plundered.
Attempt to narrate her
Movements,
Guess at her motives,
Create your own story
Which explains her
Free spiritedness –
From your high vantage
Only mirrored reflection
Return shadow-
Prancers to mind.
You’ll need to dive
Deep
Unencumbered
By false pretense
Or expectancy –
Plunge depths previously
Uncharted
And see the secret
Gardens she keeps.
Those who would
Delve unbidden
Into forbidden troves
Will find themselves
Puzzled – perplexed,
For the
The laws which govern
All others
Applied here
Leave visitors quite
Vexed.
Not upside-down
Nor inside-out
Nor distorted reality –
No, that which paints
Ancient walls here
Depicts strange
Curiosities indecipherable
And indescribable by
Those whose frequencies
Keep to low-tides.

speak.

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