I would dance with you now

In a litany of words, their origins

Unknown to me as they waltz

Across this page, unperceived

Thoughts I am baffled by, these

Words that sway in rhythm to

Things I have not the skills to

Articulate, speech inadequate

And feelings undefined.

My fingers seem to have become

Self-aware, sentient composers

That move of their own accord

And give no quarter to my lack

Of understanding, but guiding

Me through the motions, though

I sometimes stumble over the notes

When I try and second-guess my

Own ambivalent interpretations.

The music, if sometimes off-key, is

Perhaps because I have not listened

Well enough to the lessons involved, the

Workings of my inner self a mystery I

Have not solved, a dance of another kind

That these fingers have not the skill to

Create, but trying regardless in the hopes

That one day it will come to pass, and I

Will be able to hear a little better.

END

“Word Dance”