The String Play

Actors of ice
tumble and wrestle,
dip, dive, and parry
to a pitch-black stage drop.

Enter Stage Right,
the archer comes.
Hooded and silent
a friend of the night.
The orange curtains open.
Stillness reigns over distilled rains.
Frigid tundra tumblers play their games.
The artist now in cover.
Calmly caressed in the cover of crystals.
The weight of the clouds rests on the back of a sleeping giant.

Enter Stage Left,
His Majesty enters
from luscious greens.
His crown is magnificent.
Seven Jewels on each side.
His crown, divine.

Crisp.
Quiet.
Cool.

Hoof meets snow.
Nose meets grain.
Wood meets wood,
and string meets bone.

With a flick of the finger, feathers meet the air.
The end meets the start.
Tobacco offered to the earth,
obsidian hardens the heart.

The artist sees the fall of a King
and shakes off his white robe.
He dips, and he bows.
He carries the regal beast.
The artic acrobats keep on dancing
and the curtains close.

 

Published by

benlegacy

A schemer and a dreamer. I'm a #Métis author located in Saskatchewan who writes short stories, poetry, book reviews, and jokes.

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