Melancholy memories
arrange the day for me
even dreams are managed
shades of teardrop moments
gathered – gifted glances
of a past grown desolate;
meanings merge in vast but
distant metaphors of spectral
dancers come to dance,
play accord in sweet array
The future harries me –
my face does not appear
amongst the dancers’ masks,
I hear the call of music and
obey enchantments asking,
rise as partners fade away,
ghostlike trances pale effacing
features leaving blanched and
cruel caricatures of fondest
reverie to swallow me
© 9 March 2009, I. D. Carswell
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