His glance, worn by the passing of the bars
has grown so weary it has lost its hold
It seems to him there are a thousand bars
and then behind a thousand bars no world.
The soft gait of the supple, forceful paces
revolving on a circle almost nil
is like a dance of power that embraces
a core containing, dazed, a mighty will.
Rarely the pupil’s curtain, soundlessly, is raised
and then an image enters him
goes through the silent tension of the limbs
and in his heart ceases to be.
(Author Unknown – )
I love this poem. I feel the potential in the images. What might be beyond the cages I’ve constructed in my mind and the latent or dormant power I have to open the door…….