What the Chandeliers Want

So badly to dance, desperate to set loose from the ceiling,

they are bewitched by the dress balls,

partners swaying, swishing beneath their lights,

the shimmer and aura of glamor and romance,

their own reflection in the polished wood floor,

so much they wish to be unhooked, unleashed,

their crystal gently jingling, to float among the couples

in time to the music, the waltz, the mood.

And one morning after, lights still off after the gala

the night before, comes a quiver, jarring them

awake. It turns into a major rumbling, and unaware

of the earthquake in progress they dance in the daylight,

hanging now by slender threads of electrical wiring,

hardly alarmed, though, as lights flicker on and off

until the lot of them give way, crash, shatter,

go to pieces but worth it they dreamily conclude,

before expiring, worth every minute, every shard.