Sta.sh
But there is music,
Lost in the fires and flames.
It gurgles and dances
With every flickering light.
And the music is soft,
But grander than the sun.
The words to which are lost
In the dance that is never
Learned nor taught to anyone.
Even the ashes dance
With a wordless joy,
And the wood gives light
For its silent harmonies.
Remember all the days long done
And all the time we've never had.
Remember the air, as it burns
With a heat now harsh, now soft.
And all the words spoken above
The flames. That's the dance,
And the music of our time.
That is the hour spent "wasting"
Away. And yet still more meaning
is left there than anywhere else.
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With a wordless joy" I love the imagery this conjures up. Very nice piece.
Great, great, great poem.