© 11-16-2012, All Rights Reserved
and post notes and photos about your poem.
Impression false, with hours to bend
continuum in our minds' stall,
a ship escaped, deft sailors' call,
the void our moods could not amend.
Upon the ship were ghosts of souls,
and slow the dusk subscribed to night,
tulips of smoke, in hazed dim light,
three sailor forms in charades sprawls.
They danced and danced the nights after,
umpteen mimics, and all mime words,
enslaved cerebral circuit boards,
the ghosts then jumped with loon laughter.
We danced with them under the rain;
odd marionettes of the ship's hustle;
rotate around ghost minded axle;
(the ship wanted us to wind and feign) .
Across the shore, were scattered lights,
mere blinking to expend weak flames,
this dance eluded us to games,
and windy memories of kites.
We fled to reach happiness where,
our faces smiled to a careless void,
and none recalled his life destroyed,
and none recalled our dance of ne'er.
© G.V. 11-16-2012