Connecting Singles^® Poetry Connect with Poetry

The Dance

Dance the dance we have for ages.
From the swamps of nothing, to the dreams filled nights of wonders.
We have always taken these steps.
One toward, one back.
One to the left, and one to the right.
Under starry moonless eves, and early mornings dawning sun.
We move to an inner music,
with the trills of bridsong,
the wash of surf, the breathing of winds,
and the crash of mountians.
Hands holding, hearts beating,
and thoughts on only the dance.
Feeling of skin near, heat of flesh close,
and breathes mingles, heavy, and punctuated with each dance step.
And though we go nowhere, simple box step,
weaving around the standing pines, to intricate manuevers,
we go no further then the lines drawn by the rules of the dance itself.
Be it in pain, or sweet surrender to the eventual master.
We know where we stand, and where we shall end up with.
Be it wine and rose petals, water and dry bread.
We will forever dance, for its all we know.
Lead me, I lead you, hands on hips, shoulders, hands in hands.
We dance to our own inner songs.
Wind in leaves, rain on metal, twigs snap underfoot.
We will always dance on.
Impervious to anything out side, inside.
In the moment of the movement, entranced, enthralled, slaves to the dance.
And do we ever know what it means, or why we do it.
Does it even have a meaning, some instinctual manuevers.
Like the thrumming humming, buzzing bee,
dance out the map.
Dance the dance we have for ages, dancing the maps of something inner-tuned to
minds of mass connectors.
Dance for something in depth.
Just dance.

Posted: Mon Jun 29, 2009 5:43 AM CST