one more dance

These thoughts cohesively build each other to cry - not as a plea,
but because I've worn the words that make them whole on my sleeve
since the first three-fourths moon after the first one to be full in a long ago December.
This is all I seem to remember...
All we were meant to offer is that which we truly need but it, like all else in this social tundra, can do nothing more than freeze.

Silence is death, gentle and paced but as definite
as the moon that rises when the sun decides to slumber.
Are the insane the only one's to see this, I wonder.
All we need is what we are meant to offer,
and knowing how to dismember it has become so eloquently proper.

The fury of the sun burns this within the body that holds my soul.
With this knowledge I beg for my kind's just deserts.
Because all we need is the only thing that we can offer, but love followed the stock market down a hole.
Left are the hopes of a lost species, the wants of a somnambulist generation, and I.

Anti Conformists turn Conformists into Anti Conformists and take their place instead.
Those who do neither dance a bi-polar/schizophrenic waltz with their demise.
Slowly we sway from thought to thought to a song left untitled, to an unheard melody,
and we enjoy the comfort of our disdain.
Time slips through our fingertips, while you're mesmerized by your high definition box,
pathetically hypnotized by its light.
All during which I long for one more dance, hoping to finally get it right.