August 20, 2010

351. Words Fight To Explain...

How do you create the words?
What magic do you weave on the page?
Even words fight to explain
How the very same words get formed and arranged.
Your mind is at work, fretting on some other task,
Some other dire business at hand, when suddenly,
Like a gust of wind at your back,
You are thrown forward and the words begin to flow.
No longer in control of your mind,
No longer in control of your heart, your hand.
Without further thought, without the slightest effort,
Suddenly, there they are…the words in black ink.
Then, as if walking out of the fog,
The words are done,
And your mind is yours again.
Read the words at that instant,
Read the words after years have passed.
While you forever know them
To be from your very mind, heart and hand,
They are still never truly yours,
As deep in your being, you know
The words were a gift from your soul.

August 15, 2010

350. The Dancer Loves The Dance

Softly, gracefully, yet forcefully across the stage
Your eyes move with her, darting over her frame.
You long to embrace her, sweep her into your world
During that very moment when all eyes are on her.
She encapsulates all that is beauty, all that is woman,
Yet for her love, your heart must always share that stage.
The dance will forever be her first and one true love,
You watching from the shadows, wondering always
If she loves you so very much as she loves the dance.
All of your strength you must muster, my friend,
For know it from one who has lost this very battle,
To be loved by the dancer is to be loved less than the dance.