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Author Topic: The Brass Ballet Box Poem- Revised  (Read 1001 times)
Deck Hand
United States United States

« on: February 18, 2019, 01:13:17 am »

So I said to myself, what's the point of writing if I never share my work? It was supposed to be a song, hence the music box.  But I focused more on it making sense then it being lyrical.  It guess music boxes would go under the clock punk genre.  Undecided 

UPDATE: this poem has been revised

Poem by Amanda Barrientos.

The Brass Ballet Box

Our feet are bound
While we wind around, We
 dance in the air
Though we go nowhere
Her ribbons sail over my coat as pale
In dust shaped like stars in our imagination

While we wait we practice all our steps
In dizzying blur we spiral in darkness
Our wishes and dreams bright as day
Groan and slowly rust away

Right then and there
I get caught unaware, She
 pulls me in close
eternally posed
She whispers, “Remember our creator’s ember
In white paint like stars in our eyes...”

As a dream we are his
to resound his hushed hymn
With our world out of spin
I whispered, “Whatever happens...”

As a dream we replay
“Our Forever Ballet”
So beckons his brass box
to all those paired in disarray

Faltering, clothes fraying, notes groaning, delaying
She whispers “...Right down to the end.”

Our feet are bound
While we wind around, We
 dance in the air
With one note to spare
Her ribbons sail over my coat as pale
Our cogs fly like stars in our imagination

Have you ever seen two figurines twirling on top of a music box? It's quite cute.
As you might've guessed, it's the miniature man who's narrating. 

« Last Edit: March 12, 2020, 02:30:43 am by PrismMime4/7 » Logged

The reason for the Tiffany lamp's value lies in its fragility.
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