From deep inside the labyrinth
of dark corridors and silky walls,
the ears of an unknown brigade
that heralds and categorizes
a certain music of a certain sound,
ushers it in to pleasure the senses,
to kiss the ridges of the spine
and awaken the follicles of the hairs,
electrifying them with an
unknown substance,
a sweet mixture of pleasure and spice,
a blending of a wizard’s brew,
and lifts them up to run along the arms,
to blaze a path set forth by the muses,
the angels of the spirit of the music,
the melodic dancers with gentle feet,
the charmers who enflame the heart
and let it burn ‘til the
termination of the song
after it dives into
the catacombs of the night,
when the dancers tire and go to sleep.
 
When another music arrives at the gate,
another category knocking
at the door of the labyrinth
with good intentions,
but a different taste,
a stranger unknown to the senses
that can’t awaken the follicles
and the melodic dancers
who dance along the spine,
through no fault of their own,
can’t reach the labyrinth
that has the  power to
enliven the senses,
the rapture that pleasures our hearts.

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by Robert L. Martin...

Some poets followed by Robert L. Martin...

lowercasemmmmmm J Ann Crowder David Whyte SophiaGrey bluntpoet78 Khalil Gibran