Floating little, lazy lights
are drawn towards their trickling end.
Burning orange, amber, yellow.
Safe, encased,
in buoyant bowls.
Light through glass, it
flickers, dances,
circles slowly, ripples,
rests.
Moving always, nearer
to the edges,
to the final fall.
Huddled in amongst the rocks,
they wait, protected,
precious things.
Until they are returned again,
to start their dance once more.
Their watery song will keep the rhythm,
guiding them, enticing them.
Their glowing, pulsing love parade,
a pilgrimage, as one,
alone.
Their light will always shimmer,
on the water, on the stones.
Their light will always dance with joy.
A journey to the known.
are drawn towards their trickling end.
Burning orange, amber, yellow.
Safe, encased,
in buoyant bowls.
Light through glass, it
flickers, dances,
circles slowly, ripples,
rests.
Moving always, nearer
to the edges,
to the final fall.
Huddled in amongst the rocks,
they wait, protected,
precious things.
Until they are returned again,
to start their dance once more.
Their watery song will keep the rhythm,
guiding them, enticing them.
Their glowing, pulsing love parade,
a pilgrimage, as one,
alone.
Their light will always shimmer,
on the water, on the stones.
Their light will always dance with joy.
A journey to the known.
3 comments:
I love the way this one works with the photo - my favourite part is:
Moving always, nearer
to the edges,
to the final fall
Doesnt that just beg to be analised in a Literature seminar? lol.
And also congrats the phrase "Pulsing love parade" is probably the greatest line Bon Jovi never wrote. lol
I dont know enough about poetry to analyse but in summary:
gorgeous
Agreed with the boys here, I wish I give a girly opinion but those effeminates have gone and done it already havent they? So to quote a grandad:
Gorgeous
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