And the Dance Goes On
The languages of Night are soft;
And She Who Is the Night abides -
Her names are in them all.
Intertwining...sensual...
Empathy most absolute,
This Lady in the Tiger's eye
And by the Tiger's side.
Earth born at Dusk to willow gray,
To midnight sable in full array
And black again to opal's play,
The dialects remain unchanged:
Summer twilight murmurings...
Autumn wind on black water
Irresolute and resolute
This tactile weave of different tongues,
Where tangled streaks of fire and smoke
Flash inward
Suspended like precious gems
All captured in the net of stars
She casts across Her sky.
And the stars....
They are but jewels
Shining in the dark
Shining through Her hair....
Speak softly all the languages of Night;
In darkened rooms imagining
Touch another in the velvet of her gown
Sing softly in the ecstacy of fingertips
When we are less afraid to dream
What cannot be seen
Her rule is brief...
She bids us all to rest before the final storm.
She has so little time to dance the night away
Before She is the Dawn...
Bridde of the first embrace
In universal languages...
And the dance goes on.
Copyright © Elizabeth Landon-Lane | Year Posted 2012
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