What is this undertow and riptide,
constantly tugging at my inner parts?
I want to laugh and sing and dance,
but a melancholy current imparts
quietness of spirit.
I remember dancing in the dark
as therapy and catharsis.
Is the wild and free so lost to waves,
So tossed between the artless
It cannot resurface?
My offspring dances unconsciously,
following the flow of sound.
I’ve forgotten how these limbs move,
but hope the good of yesterday redounds
on today…
on tomorrow.
viewingcamelot 
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