Notes About The Poem
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The Hands Lead the Dance
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A dance step begins with feet.
Hands flare, to make it complete.
They carve the surge, sculpt the line.
Transforming still water into wine.
Like petals blooming bold and free.
Five fingers chant in symmetry.
The thumb dives low; the pinkie soars,
Hands are blossoms, the crowd adores.
The body pulses to rhythm’s calls,
Hands, the conductor, fully enthralls.
Charging the air to sparkle the throng,
Lifting the spirits, driving them along.
The hands lead the way.
The hands lead the dance.
They give each step,
Its prance and romance.
Each gesture proclaims, a line, a word,
A sentence streams, its momentum is stirred.
The hands finish what the feet began,
Exposing the heart, its whole lifespan.
Without their grace, the dance is bare.
It's a song without a breath or care.
Brushstrokes dashed, the vision still folded.
The clay is yet to be shaped and molded.
The hands flint sparks; the wrists ignite.
Fingers flick flame; they torch the light.
They lash, they soar, they crack the sky.
The storm erupts with their battle cry.
Each twirl is a tempest, each curl a scream,
These hands inspire the dancer’s dream.
They break the silence, sear the floor,
and leave the crowd begging for more.
The hands lead the way.
The hands lead the dance.
They give each step,
Its prance and romance.
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