Pageants of theatrical evidence,
Breathe in paranormal structure;
Every inch of God, bleeds clean.
Aching in merciless dance,
That screams Tudor history on my skin;
Resigning excellence through architecture.
The mistress of pendulums,
Swing time past the hour of death,
Focusing its victory over lethargy.
Time slips through,
Fingertip tantrums,
That land so stilly.
I beseech thee,
Markedly, through memories;
She is the ballerina,
Which lightly tramples your daisies,
On a rainy day,
That comes too often.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
