It courses through my limbs
electrifying me;
the chaos, uncontrolled in my mind
villifying me.
The familiar, cold rhythm
of the dance steals my soul.

An abrupt release reveals
the wreckage of my passion:
guttering flames, dying embers
and emptynessess beyond counting.
The beginning has become the end.

The end has become the beginning.
Without the dance
my only direction lies
away from what darknessess
have been wrought by my own hand.
The haunted, echoing passageways
of my heart hunger
for meaning... for being.

My compass, no longer
that of blind fury,
spins in weary solitude.
Yet, some small ray of light
will warm me,
beckon to me,
sing my name in a voice
I have never heard
yet, know...
without words:
I have come home.

©LJ Grandstaff 11/98

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