The Windmills Dance
In a land of dreams
An Elder, with a Song entrapped,
In the labyrinth of his Mind, it's wrapped.
A Professor, of Architecture's lore,
Seeks the Song's elusive Door.
~~~
A Stroll in the Meadow, under the Sky,
Hoping the Breeze will help it fly.
His heart carries a Tune, in Silence spun,
Echoes of a Song, not yet done.
~~~
By a Windmill, he rests, his Quest paused,
In its shadow, his Thoughts are tossed.
'Windmills of My Mind,' he recalls,
As the Melody from his memory falls.
~~~
The Windmill turns, so does his World,
Into the Land of Dreams, he's twirled.
He lies beneath the turning Blades,
As Day's bright light softly fades.
~~~
His Body rests, his Spirit soars,
To the Song's distant, dreamy Shores.
His world turns with the Windmill's Dance,
His Life's last Song, his final Chance.
~~~
In Dream's embrace, he finds his Sleep,
His Song, a Secret, the Windmill keeps.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Do I come across as crass?
Do you find me base?
Am I an intellectual?
Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*
Is this even funny?
I suppose not. But, then again, why not?
Read on...
Also:
Keep reading
More stories from Iris Obscura and writers in Poets and other communities.
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I shed a tear. This is so beautiful.