A Whackadoodle Poem: The Dance
I wrote this after a long week, while I kept playing the same wonderful music on repeat; I'd include a link to the music, but I don't think my friend ever published it. I have one of his few DVD's.
Floating on a rhythmic sound, wordless notes making air profound. Melody and cords can confound lonely souls caught in their surround. A simple honesty I’ve found within each beat so slyly wound in passion’s tether; wrapped around liquid music in which I’ve drowned. Such joy to feel my body dance. Every beat creates a chance to redirect some age old trance that claims each year another lance and calls its victims happenstance but never gives a second glance, when lonesome hearts find resonance within their own subdued romance. My molten heart beats out its wound, supporting life still too untuned. Daring rhythms have me marooned within a truth I’ve not assumed. Why do I feel myself so doomed if I must live my life resumed now I have witnessed tones untombed and wilted melodies regroomed Music frees a soul caught by blue and helps it see the world more true. I want to play along with you no matter what you’re going through the way that good friends often do; perhaps discover something new like how to catch the morning dew, a magic drink said to renew. I’m tired of dealing in words. I have been making them my swords, within a house of falling cards, with no future to move towards. I want to leave behind the hoards who keep declaring their own lords. I want to forfeit all rewards and find release within your cords. Echoes return from unknown ends, a secret mystery time defends; still what we hear often depends on what our hidden past contends. We live our lives as fear commends. Our thoughts get locked inside our trends. We strain out sounds until life lends some credence to what logic sends. Some pay one thousand for a frock, yet never sweep their own front walk. They crave a life without tick tock; all fighting over private rock. I want to dance beyond the talk, and take a chance beyond the squawk, reorganize the human flock to recognize a fledgling hawk. Ego is hard to understand. Each lonely world caught up in sand, endless currents and complex strand fearing new routes that find no land, and feeding truths that sometimes band within illusions darkest hand. I crave a life much more unmanned to challenge what my past holds grand. Every so often we meet a person who fills us with heat; we sense rhythms we can’t repeat and inspirations they complete; that’s when we crave our lives more neat, please bring our visions to our feet; but life’s no ordinary treat, containing pains all too concrete. I’ve writ until the final strain. I’m not quite sure what thoughts remain. I’m never sure what poems gain, yet still I love their lost refrain. I know they’ve taught me to retrain my thoughts to feed on living grain. I hope that humans can live sane, Their dance a salve to sooth their pain.