Broken Dancer I - It's In You

It’s in you,
Can’t you feel it my son?
You were born to be great
To be number one
You must cease all your playing
And practice non-stop
If you have any hopes
Of reaching the top
It’s in you my son
You must not be afraid
Just keep on dancing
Till your fortune is made
Then you can care for us
As we’ve cared for you
Can’t you feel it my son
Our greatest dreams come true?

I see in you a seed
Of blind discontent
And selfish greed
To an unknown extent
Oh mother dear
You knew from the start
To remove the fear
You rip out the heart
But you forgot that hate
Soon takes its place
And now it’s too late
For me to erase
The anger I feel
When I look at you
This just can’t be real
My worst nightmare come true.

Day after day
Hour upon hour
I go through the motions
I grunt and perspire,
But my mind is moving
Apart from my feet
It’s dreaming of freedom
Of walking the street—
I’m never allowed
Out of the house
I have no friends
My parents know about
I’m just a lonely child
Forced to be a dancer
It seems to be a riddle
For which there is no simple answer.

Anthem

Existential exaltations
mollify misguided nations
stimulating separations
axing all amalgamations.

Contend

If friends turn to foes
don’t brace for more blows
neglecting deflecting
bodes ill for the nose.

When plans go awry
don’t curl up and cry
endeavor forever
to fearlessly try!

Key Ring

Back in days of innocence
my heart was like an open door;
the portal to such pristine bliss
unlocked, I thought, for evermore.

But as orbits quickly flew
I felt the pull of gravity,
every time my burden grew
I gained another weighty key.

My ring has grown over time
denoting quite a heavy load,
it jingles with a haunting chime
that rings goodbye to days of old.

Now my heart, no longer free
clamors in a rusting cage,
as I scrounge for one small key
to loose the fetters of old age.

Break

The lower the rung
the quicker the wit—
when drowning in dung
you laugh or you quit.

Gallant Tree

Oh friendly tree I love thy breeze
more than you’ll ever know
but I can’t bend with supple ease
like thee when tempests blow;
contentment courses through thy veins
yet someday thou will leave
and here beside thy bare remains
will end my short reprieve.

Self Rising

I bagged the pointless griping
and practiced fancy piping
for cupcakes look much sweeter when they flaunt a little flair;
the recipe to savor
isn’t all about the flavor,
omit the things prohibiting a treat as light as air.