The Shadow Ballet

In sleeping dust do playful shadows stir,
within the static they flicker; fierce, patient.
The breath of a step is as a voice that beckons,
the recognition of the anxious, delicate dance

Settled in the dust, shadow dreams of play linger
An ethereal ballet waiting to take stage, waiting,
waiting everlong for the shyest glimmer of light
The pitch darkness is as melancholy to shadow,
a despondency long overdue to be snuffed out

A rush of air, and a flood of empyrean light
sends the shadows to a frenzy, a lively dance
far separated from the lachrymose existence
no longer a laconic reply, but a rush of endless thougts

Oh the shadows that play in the corners of my mind
The thoughts that threaten to pull delicate threads
Would ignoble thoughts make their way through
to bring ache to a heart both vulnerable and unaware?

Leave the static pain as it were, disturb it not
That they would die into shadows that dare not dance
Let only euphoria be beckoned awake to its rare ballet
far from melancholy we were not meant to know

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011