Beauty Of Lost Languages
P Patti Masterman
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The alphabet of poetry is passion,
Though fallen out of vogue and fashion;
One of the old, forgotten tongues-
But wait, another idiom's just begun:
Love thru the kaleidoscope dancing,
Lightly scattered rainbows enhancing
Fractured geometries in snowflake pattern;
Almost crystalline, they flower open
The sapphires, rubies, emeralds woken,
Weaving in and out, in token
Sunburst from each twist of barrel;
Whether the arrangment bodes parallel
Misery and sorrow, none can say,
Till that visions quite gone away.
Fresh forms appearing each newborn day,
At the peripherys edge, they engage,
Rotating like dancers to center stage;
One full circle, and away they spark,
To square dance once around the arc
Of somebody elses kaleidoscope-
Some other life, some other hope;
Another spring, another chance.
Nature never wastes a spiral dance.
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