Dances With Words

Oh, the life of a writer, one dances with words,

to make the world brighter, to fly with the birds.

Entwined with stick symbols, and swaying in motion,

the mind must be nimble, with literary devotion.

The words in positions, and forms of repose

move as musicians – a melody flows –

Then symbols end the dance, with a period in place,

Another one? per chance…. , a comma of grace.

But the dance mood brings change, with question marks

the stick figures are strange, the song now barks

O’ Words, do you mean …. to hurt me so badly?

Remains to be seen --- they flirt with me, sadly.

The stick symbols hurt, the rounded vowels hushed

….to words they revert, their vagueness is shushed.

But people give meaning, in the form of speech

Their thoughts given screening, the promises breach –

‘Tis the words...do a dance… tickle my heart…be kind

cut like swords…with a glance… take apart….my mind.

But lack of terms…nebulous talks…unclear prose… I fear.

Dost confirms…warily stalks… appear those…I cheer.

Love dances with words, oh God….can’t they see?

To write with a chord, how odd…must they plea?

The new thoughts erupt, of mine a true bliss

The silences corrupt, to assign the abyss.

We thrive on them, die for them, pay for them…so

to survive in them, lie with them, pray, condemn – NO !

Write the dance, take a stance, take a chance…why ?

Dance with the words, to ~not~ is to die.

Writers dance with words. It is true for me.