Saturday, September 02, 2006

The midnight dancers mate.

(Alright. I read the poem below this, and I guess this is just my version of that poem. For me its not the moon, but the northern lights. I used mate, and not lover, which I am not happy about. I like lover more. It fits better. But it came out this way, so whatever.)


The northern lights dance like no other.
She jumps and soars blinks and twists,
Hugging and kissing the cheek of the moon, her brother,
And slows her dance and makes it fluid like the morning mists
.

I wander out every night to find her if I might.
If lucky I am to see her two step across the sky,
Then I sit on hours on end, just to watch the sight,
And lay on my back to set my gaze up high.

I am her poet, her fan, and her lover.
She is my muse, my inspiration and my biggest support.
For no matter how low I am , I fly, just to watch her hover,
Hover above me, and to steal a glance as she makes her body contort.

She is as timeless as the sun, who is her mother,
And I am in love with her, there can be no doubt,
And yes it helps that I am crazier then any other,
Who watches her, to know what she is all about.

Now sixty years from now I have to think,
With me gone and no longer there to watch her dance,
Will she from her stage in the sky sink?
Or in overwhelming sorrow slow down her prance?

Or will my spirit float up to join her,
And make love to her throughout the night?
Just to shiver back to the grave as the sun warms the air?
Or come out again and again, just to see her sight?

Will she miss me more then all the rest,
Who long for her, and cause them to hate,
The sun when she rises, cause it's her daughter they love best?
Will she miss me, the northern lights mate?

2 Comments:

Blogger NYC TAXI SHOTS said...

.

9:46 p.m.  
Blogger Poetic_bum said...

Care to give anything more nyc taxi shots? Perhaps advice?

10:57 p.m.  

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