The Dancer
They are,
we are.The first dancer
when the music beat up
deep from within
as we slowly
tap the pencil
sometimes
on a tattered notebook
or we glimpse
as the drumming from the roof
the rain that first fell
can they listen to the nib of our pen?
or
the sudden outburst of scratch
or imperious soliloquy
stood and walk for a while
then look out on the window
a simple gazed
reluctant
the world it is as it was
the clock ticked on the wall
and when it stopped
rushed
to grab back
the pencil on the head
Copyright © Herbert Siao | Year Posted 2014
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