Dancer's Will - Poem by s./j. goldner
To run up the steps with my pink ballet bag,
these days I'd give anything to hear you nag:
“Stop talking! Put your shoulders down,
dancers grow square—not round.”
Square indeed, for I didn't want the discipline
when I was running the only race I could win.
You stopped correcting me—you almost gave up,
it was then I should've cared to be good enough.
'Cause all I wanted was to make you proud
despite the occassional role of class clown.
It's as simple as that,
but there's so much more in fact.
Leaving has been my biggest regret,
but I'm not ready to let go of anything yet.
Enraptured in dreams—I can feel it still
so consider this my dancer's will:
I owe a debt that cannot be paid
for it's a matter of whether we burn out or fade.
If success is weighed by how many times
you've stood out in your world,
consider me the wealthiest of girls.
Yet if success is gathered by how many truths
you've stayed true to since you were small,
consider me the most broke of them all.
Though there's something there I cannot describe—
an inner chord of a dancer's vibe.
'Take it or Leave it' need not apply—
it's there in your heart so don't bother with why.
Something will remain forever sublime
when you've formed a different kind of line.**
Here's a verse for every year that's passed;
a word for every dream that's been cast.
you try to bury what's deep inside,
when you wake one day to find
the treasure you had so long ago,
you have only just begun to know....
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