This Dance


This dance
this dance I do
that I share in
unrehearsed steps of wildness
of change
of agelessness
I move with music that only I can hear
the syncopation like heartbeats
and I rise like the steam from a hot spring
and twirl like sand devils
and scatter apart like seeds blown in a storm
if you can’t hear the music that doesn’t matter
dance with me anyway
move with me
feel the ground
feel the air watching
until your rhythm
your own beats surface like sap in a spring maple
guiding your feet
this dance moves in more than seasons
more than steps that skim the earths skin
this dance reaches up and up
and out
and in
and you pull the cadence from the very center
the beating heart of life
and it gives back to you
this dance.




About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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