i want to write poetry
in the night
when Nothing is dead
and Everything is alive.
The figurines on my shelf
they come to life and
oscillate
around each other
like some silent silhouettes
they bound across the room
small and invisible
like the breathe of the walls
my chest rises and falls and their laughter makes them
tumble and topple against each other
they form triangles and shapes
and the shadow puppets on their bodies
come to life.
And when the earth sleeps,
the Nothings come to life.
cool! I really like it. Way to go on the figurines oscillating...and tumbling and toppling . I love these two things. The back to back similes is the only problem with it that I see, but even so I think it works.
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