Oblivion

A murmur of movement like a sigh
while we wait for the song
to take us into the first step.

This passionate melancholy that we dance
to recall farewells and promises
losses and legends
of love and life
from the songs of
the children of the river
to the open hearted.

Yet always the need
for the poetry and the passion,
and outrageous dreams drawn
from the song’s shape
and the blood’s beat together.

Snow now in the cold sky
beyond the window’s depth
while we follow the song
into the first step.

Somewhere inside I
must close my eyes
for there’s nothing more
in this dance
than what we give.

Moments more than
enough to surrender to.

Outside the snow still makes
its own oblivion.
And the wind waits
but so do the daffodils

r/030209

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~ by magickwords on Saturday, 28 February 2009.

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