To the Danse Macabre
It’s closing in,
The harmonic melody,
It’s tone deliberately grim.
As a one-time melody, it is heard by all.
A familiar, yet unfamiliar ring.
For the majority - its tune is distance.
But like all those before, I can hear it-
I can hear it from deep within.
It’s seduction.
Always terribly well-advantaged,
Overpowering,
Never once balancing.
From a figure showing us from within, it gives a gesture done to many before myself,
Void of rush,
It’s time for our dance.
What of my arm?
What tames my reach?
What keeps my arm dangling at my side?
Something foreign-
Something I cannot recognize...
Limbs void of any flesh, it coaxes with its twists and turns
Its movements are deliberate,
Deliberately leaves one to feel left out.
Not special but eternal,
Our well-worn dance.
But unlike it’s “ending”, it is mine instead.
Copyright © Mya Robinson | Year Posted 2019
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