deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Private Dancer
A string of words
A bowl of worms
Gentle mist from little cups
Breakfast at the terrace
That's dawn's sweet start
A hundred voices
Buzzing of bees
Coaxing tiny needles
Penetrating my consciousness
Is when the foggy day begins
I sit here unmoving
My legs slowly dying
My head is swelling
My lips keep smiling
As I dance unseen
Within the maze
I do the waltz
To music that amaze
With princesses and prince
I dance, in joy
A bowl of worms
Gentle mist from little cups
Breakfast at the terrace
That's dawn's sweet start
A hundred voices
Buzzing of bees
Coaxing tiny needles
Penetrating my consciousness
Is when the foggy day begins
I sit here unmoving
My legs slowly dying
My head is swelling
My lips keep smiling
As I dance unseen
Within the maze
I do the waltz
To music that amaze
With princesses and prince
I dance, in joy
Published 19th Aug 2012
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19th Aug 2012 7:15am
Anonymous
19th Aug 2012 12:13pm
Joy is the key as you express Grace.
Strider :)
Strider :)
19th Aug 2012 1:38pm
Yes: thats true: even within the minds of quiet dementia...thanks strider for reading and commenting.
19th Aug 2012 7:55pm
20th Aug 2012 00:25am
21st Aug 2012 3:51am
The spirit dances, and the mind knows the joy that not everyone can see, feel, and embrace except the dancer. Through strife, through pain, and even through darkness once must look for the light. That is but one of the profound meanings I can see within this poem. Well done, Grace!
21st Aug 2012 7:57pm
As usual Jessica, your wisdom goes beyond the words. Thanks ever so for reading and commenting.
