Treachery can’t stop me from pirouetting, romancing, necromancing!: A poem 

I can question, at times, in askance 

the alphabets placed within me 

Are these constructs that pave 

pathways through the woods? 

Or are they obstacles of unholy device? 

Must I not seek only drops of clear 

crystals that spell my song? 

Or must I face a snowstorm? 

Is spring only an attitude, 

like an invisible ring adorned, 

that does not bear the magic of gold 

but is only the iron of irony – 

the metallurgy of a blacksmith  

darkening my door through 

the ghosts of my ensnared loves  

Where does this inveiglement end? 

Can I put on my dancing shoes, 

and dance again? Have I forgotten 

how to dance, after all these chores 

that eternity demanded of me? And, 

with whom can I dance, when all 

my loves are picked out by the treacherous, 

even before the music began to play? 

Do I semplice my own ballad 

and continue to pirouette, romance, necromance 

with the beauty of my own starry instinctive creations!