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If I were to open
a blue door
into the murmurous silence,
would you rend your garments
and hang upside down
from the yew tree
under a spiritous moon?
Tongues grow wild
and shadows dance upon the walls
in the glow of the candles,
and only blackness
answers
when one contemplates
a gibbous moon.
Brendan, over at Real Toads, set us the task of using the words outlined in bold to write a poem of Moon Madness, as Plath-like as possible. These lines just tumbled out all on their own so I set them here undisturbed, as I have no idea what they mean or where they came from. Just grateful that they came.
Re-posted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry
