A BEAUTIFUL SHOW

The room is dark,
A swirl of violets, crimsons,
And blues of deepest midnight.

In the corner, a music box chimes,
Its dancer twirls in an everlasting circle
The silk blinds bellow about in the wind,
The open window, high as the ceiling,
Agape, open for someone to come home,
Where could she be?

Perfume drifts amidst the wind,
A whisper – nay, a kiss,
Of lavender, of roses,
Of innocence

Paper lay on a nearby table,
Each buried by the one on top,
One is pleading for attention.
It is a diary,
It's ink is slightly wet and smeared,
A lone candle, dwindling to an inch from
Gives the command
"Grace the empty chair"

A ray of moonlight knife's its way through the silky white curtains,
As one, her, curtains, and moonlight
dance as though they have danced for eternity.
Still, she spins,
Twirl and step in perfect flow,
Elegance a melody of a beautiful lover ...
A shape... a form... a dancing girl...

But she is solid in this form,
The moonlight does reveal,
Yes, for within the white folds the girl twirls, spins and steps,
But she is as solid as the midnight air.