Invitation

 

the subtle thread of music
a beat a tone
a calling carried on the wind
far off keening wail
the beetle clicks
three times
moth swoops on silent motionless wings
owl gazing steadily with eyes
old and full of secrets
death has invited me to dance
turn the mirrors to the wall
open the window
so I can join
so I can dance
the reaper beckons and the crow
rasps out its invitation
I join the dance
tearstains on my black silk shoes
as the jackal reads aloud
I’m dancing…..
©jayetomas

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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