Mother said, “Do not Dance for His sake.”
Forsaken? Seared by Flames.
Whipped to frenzy, Passion flares awake
And dreaming without shame.
Daughter said, “Mother, the Dance? My own.”
In this, She found her Soul
Filling while full, embers deep, did glow
Brightly, blindly. Heart’s gold.
Stars above, performed the slowest Dance.
Thorn-pierced tongue touched clenched Rose
Water. She flowed, thus, knew Him entranced.
Shaming Stars. Fits and throes.
For all these Years, she had heard His strings
Strumming, He wouldn’t speak.
Words? Unneeded. Strumming fingers sing
Songs. Love. She feared to seek.
© All rights reserved, 2016.
Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.