The Night Circus
You told me
You stood them
around the bigtop
while you brushed
the clouds into my hair,
then on the highwire,
where you washed
in the moon;
but the wind came
and took their fire.
The night-circus burned.
My hair flew up
in silver flames
of moon-twisted sun,
and I ran.
posted for dVerse Poets
Images: Head in the Clouds, photomanipulation © Thomas Dodd Fair Use
Paysage Orageux, 1901 photographer unknown Fair Use
this floats, fine as silver-flamed ash ~ReplyDelete
I felt the dread, and the horror, and the sorrow...there are different ways of taking this in...one is that for a long while now I have crossed a deserted street if a woman is walking towards me, especially at night, because of that horror, of reading fear, but worse is the idea of someone being groomed, realising, and having to run..and the false complimenting generally...so underhand....your verse worked...ReplyDelete
Thank you, Ain, for your thoughtful read.Delete
You had me at the opening line. Gorgeous 55!❤️❤️ReplyDelete
Joy, I knew your poem would be mystical by the image you chose. "Silver flames of moon-twisted sun" is gorgeous description of her hair in it. Enchanted she ran and she will never be the same.ReplyDelete
Maybe, it's me but, I sense a bit of electricity that might not be all that was inflamed. I could just be negative today.ReplyDelete
This is about as vivid as a 55 gets! Wow. Well done, Joy!ReplyDelete
Wild chemistry is high-wire fire: an exultant trapeze over whoomph and whatever and an immortal peril. And that Ringmaster Ned is an oily paramour. Yikes. A kick ass 55 Hedge, hope the speaker found a vantage far away to watch the burning without catching the moonfire. An interesting braid of elements.ReplyDelete
Thanks, B. Sometimes all you can do is run and hope it works.Delete
First of all I love that painting.ReplyDelete
I feel these words as reflective of false ones, both personal and universal. A spell is being cast, but the result is not according to any plan. In the end it consumes itself, and takes everything around it along.
The impossibility of prediction, really.
Yes, appearance versus reality, desire to believe versus consequences of believing the false...thanks for your insightful read.Delete
I love all the chain reaction of elements in this, Joy, shapeshifting and setting each other alight.ReplyDelete
of moon-twisted sun
and I ran."
The perfect end, and I just want to run with her <3
You're always welcome, Sunra. Thanks for reading.Delete
A perfect 55... from the first line to the last, the image fits it perfectly, with those night clouds (that sounds a lot like nightmares)...ReplyDelete
A true talent.ReplyDelete
Beautiful, despite the sorrow and tragedy.ReplyDelete
"while you brushed
the clouds into my hair,"
Such a beautiful image, but clouds are fleeting.