I've noticed that in order to write a poem, I don't think. I never think of the words. Just all of a sudden I feel extremely ill, like if I don't write something right now I"ll be sick. Very strange...but whatever works.
Enjoy
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Dance
Do you know
How the painted starlight dances?
I have seen their eyes,
Glowing in all their brilliance,
Seen the empty houses on the street,
Heard the empty cries
And the painted wings that shield them.
Do you know
How the world will scream?
Do you know the way it dies?
The why it ends?
It ends in starlight,
In the final moments of a being,
Of a forever,
Of a time that never ends,
And never began.
It ends with cries, but not with sobs;
With shouts, but not with words;
With dignity, but not with truth.
Forever, it does end.
And forever the stars keep
Dancing.
