(March 26, 2015)

A room full,
Of colorful dresses, red, orange, blue, greens and every other color.
Worn proudly by bodies showing off their ornaments,
Glistening and displaying their brilliance in the light,
As if to say – come look at me.

The room, somewhat dimly lit –
Lights dispersed in every corner,
The curtains of red and white – thin fragile lace,
Dance over the lights,
As there is a light summer breeze blowing
And creates shadows on the light colored walls.

Each shadow tells a story –
But only for a fleeting moment, then changes it’s direction completely
As the breeze blows the curtain in a different direction.
Randomly, it seems, but with a certain rhythm to it.

A room full,
Of laughter and happiness.
People talking animatedly, their hands moving
– Some dancing, expressing their abandon for the moment.
Music plays and fills the room,
Touches a few souls as it moves through the room,
While leaving others behind.
In another corner, some talk –
While a faint touch passes between, a knowing smile –
Not sure what’s being said,
But only the love shared is expressed,
In that brief fleeting instance.
For only they know –
That the love is eternal,
Even in the faintest of touches, a peck between
And then the room is full again
And the party goes on.

The poet sits alone –
In the middle of the room,
Surrounded by dancing shadows of light,
By music, its notes moving gracefully through the room,
The laughter filling the room,
The touch between the lovers,
And searches amongst his solitude.

The poet sits alone –
And looks through the room.
The muse – he
Hears the music of her voice as she laughs,
Enveloped by the notes from the music –
– As if the laughter and music were a beautiful song.
Hears the tip tap of her shoes as she walks,
Gracefully, rhythmically
– As if rose petals are spread on the floor for her every step
Senses her faint perfume as she walks by,
– And it fills his mind with notions of desire.
Touches her delicate hand, beautiful painted toenails,
Inscribed with cryptic messages of love.
Then, in a moment, she is gone –
Walking on petals to another part of the room,
Laughing, giggling, smiling, dancing,
All in one.

The poet sits alone –
In this very room.
Stares longingly after his muse,
And wonders –
In his poet’s solitude.
Will the words flow because of love,
In that delicate touch, faint perfume, the gentle step and that laughter.
Will words flow because of tears,
From losing that delicate touch, faint perfume, the gentle step and that laugher,
Because he only had it for a moment.
His muse –
Will it help him create words,
Delicate prose and wonderful phrases,
That will fill this very room.
Or, will it be solitude –
The poet sits alone and wonders.

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