Blue Lily,
White Lily,
where the air is soft and the garden shadowed,
and the perfume changes with the direction of the wind.
Raise your arms and turn…
Quiet dance,
quiet fingers,
reaching to tattoo the sky.
Blue Lily ,
White Lily,
you reach up,
breaking free from the ground…
But the ground calls back,
cajoling,
“Wings can only take you so high,
stay with us here,
in endless space,
and dance the songs of midnight,
the music ghastly and beautiful,
and eternal…
Not the quickburning of the mid-day,
the ballet of sun,
too soon ended.”
Blue Lily,
White Lily,
where the air is soft,
and the garden filled with shadows,
and the shadows dance…
©jayetomas2017
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?
Chimera Poetry 
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