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Dance
One and two and three and four
I’m dancing gracefully across this floor
Five and six and seven and eight
I’m not yet on time, I’m afraid I am late.
I spin, I twirl, I leap and pirouette
Can I finally stop? No, not quite yet.
The music plays, the orchestra hums
but loudest of all is the beating of drums
that continuously pound inside my head
as the pit of my stomach fills with dread.
I think I am lost – I’m not sure what to do
Though I’ve practiced forever, these moves all seem new.
I’m following the steps, toes on the line
that traces the path I’m trying to find.
It leads me so deep – to the point of no return
where I try to see what secrets I can learn
that you hold locked away where no one can see
precisely what it is you want out of me.
Plié, relevé, en pointe to arabesque.
how long must I dance before I can rest?
When will I know just how to step with grace?
Or am I still destined to fall on my face
as I struggle to learn what I should or shouldn’t say
to avoid stumbling over your anger today.
The choreography’s confusing – the steps are all wrong.
They don’t seem to match the beat of the song
that you showed me the sheet music for in the past.
I’m trying to keep up, but I’m fading quite fast.
For though my training covered so many genres of dance
I’m feeling as though I am caught in a trance.
It’s a baffling series of steps I’m trying to take
But I’m confident that I can bend and not break
under the constant pressure of the changing rhythms –
I know if I can focus on the colorful prism
that exists as the joy pouring out of my heart
then the end of this dance will be as smooth as the start.
The music draws down as my movements slow.
I’ve learned it’s not all about what I know.
Though predetermined steps can bear beauty, it’s true
What is needed right now is the emotional view
that leads me to follow the spontaneous beat
of the tune that you’re playing for me on the street.
