My Words

I cannot dance.

I try to move to the beat,

but I can’t,

I have two left feet.

 

I cannot paint.

Colours swarm around me,

all I ever wanted

was to make them my own.

 

In my mind:

life is beautiful music

shining lights,

everything perfect,

everything just right.

 

But when my world wages war,

sorrow attempts to extinguish my flame

I can’t dance away my pain.

My brush strokes can’t bring colour

back into my life again.

 

Instead,

I move to the rhythm of my words.

My canvas is a notebook,

My art is verse.

 

So that the colours of my painting,

the music of my dance,

becomes my own Arabian Tree

and I am reborn a magnificent flame.