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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1675306
by Rhyssa
Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #1675306
Life is partly what we make it, and partly what is made by the friends whom we choose
my heart’s music sends me
whirling around this friend
passing that stranger
now grasping a hand for a long beat of music
now avoiding another touch
          for every contact stains my costume
          and I am spattered
          crimson and dripping
          with shades of . . .expectation

how many unheeded marks I have left on others
ignoring their dance
for my own intricate choreography
          sometimes I think
          the most valuable touches
          were left by those
          who didn’t even notice
          and I think . . .
the reverse must also be true . . .right?

is my dance my own
or have I been guided always
by shadow partners
who entwine my desires with
          you should really . . .if I were you
          even a quick spin of
          let’s be practical

but even as I question
I remember steady hands
throwing me into the air with
          there are no limits to who you can be

in a moment the beat will sound
and I must leap again
but I have forgotten my choreography
          what foot leads . . .how high . . .
          where will I land . . .
          who will catch me if I fall . . .if I fail?

I will not
          the music will be ready
          and I will rise and dance . . .again



line count 38
© Copyright 2010 Rhyssa (sadilou at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1675306