We were passionate dancers;
Our hearts and souls were one
We thrived on willfull expression,
As emotions came undone
We performed with fire and thunder,
With overflowing heat
Despite the pain and hardships,
We will not accept defeat.
But our dance was not made up of movements,
It was composed of words:
A fanciful exchange of intentions,
A beautiful display of thoughts,
A gentle outpouring of our hearts
And yet, the wonder and majesty of such a travesty cannot be over-emphasized.
Hidden inside these words we speak and words we write,
Are movements of the soul
With every line of writing, we step
With every bit of poetry, we swing
With every word we say, we turn
And every finished piece is a dance fashioned for the soul.
Some dances are sad
Some dances are joyful
Others are quick and short
While others are slow and long
There are different dances for different occasions,
Various types for various needs;
A grand plethora - innumerable, uncountable, incomprehensible
And that was our world, our private space; it used to
Before she took my last letter to the grave.