real life is not poetry
not beautiful music
not rhythmic
with its clanking
and squawking
and it pointless flood of words
better left unsaid
drowning out the pulse of our tempo
filling our ears with nothing
staggering our steps off the beat
with its noisy chaos
stumbling us into each other
jostling you into me
so we dip and we sway
to keep our balance
and we sing apologies off tune
recovering and overcompensating
clapping our hands on the downbeat
lifting our voices in song
taking our place in the dance
learning the new complex rhythms
of this beautiful music
this poetry we call
real life
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
