Crescendo

-
Crimson thread weaving through time,
tying thoughts,
buried in the confused past,
to the wind;

rising, dancing

in the shimmering light
exposing dragons that rear their heads in shame.

There, there it is!
There!
Thus cries the captive, weighed down by ignominy of forgetfulness.
There is the sound I listened for in the dark recesses,
that resonated freedom from this confinement.
She reaches out

Towards the tremor that woke the light of life,
Echoing the childlike hope
the adolescent struggle
the blush of femininity.
Crimson thread lifting
note
by
note
the weary body of the languished captive,

draws forth the ancient dance
and wraps
wings of sound

around

long forgotten beauty.

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