Since 1997, you’ve been coming to to discuss everything from Stephen King to writing to Harry Potter. You’ve made our site more than a place to discover your next book: you’ve made it a community. But like all things internet, is growing and changing. We've said goodbye to our community message boards—but that doesn’t mean we won’t still be a place for adventurous readers to connect and discover.

Now, you can explore the most exciting new titles (and remember the classics) at the Barnes & Noble Book Blog. Check out conversations with authors like Jeff VanderMeer and Gary Shteyngart at the B&N Review, and browse write-ups of the best in literary fiction. Come to our Facebook page to weigh in on what it means to be a book nerd. Browse digital deals on the NOOK blog, tweet about books with us,or self-publish your latest novella with NOOK Press. And for those of you looking for support for your NOOK, the NOOK Support Forums will still be here.

We will continue to provide you with books that make you turn pages well past midnight, discover new worlds, and reunite with old friends. And we hope that you’ll continue to tell us how you’re doing, what you’re reading, and what books mean to you.

Distinguished Bibliophile
Posts: 2,224
Registered: ‎08-15-2009

Dark Waltz: A Poem, a Pattern

[ Edited ]

The song of music box

Shatters the air.

A melody, exotic,

Intoxicating, so very fair.


The far away flute,

The summery call,

Of a bard's beribboned lute,

Lifting and merging.


Drifting between the clouds,

Soaring out of the darkness,

Comes another voice,

Calling out loud.


Eyes glowing through the gloom.

A smile flashes in the night.

Above the clouds, a beating heart.

Above the clouds, sings the dreaming lark.


One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

Counting out.  Counting on.

Skirts gathered, flaring out, swirling, gone.


Alone in the dark.

Alone in her dreams.

Alone in the dance.

All is not as it seems.


Song of the lark.

Song of the dreamer.

Song of hope.

A dance, exotic and dark.


Eyes watching, dark and knowing.

A smile flashes in the night.

Watching, knowing, timing it right.

Watching, knowing, a tenor voice.


One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

Counting on. Counting out.

Velvet skirts, flaring, whirling about.


One hand caught.

Two eyes, open wide.

Three words spoken.

'Dancing all alone?'


One hand held.

Two gazes meet.

Three words, whispered.

'Alone. Always. Alone.'


One joins the dance.

Two begin again.

Three voices sing out.

Music box. Lute. Lark.






'Of wings and words and dancing milkweed seeds...'