What A Beautiful, Beautiful Dance

What A Beautiful, Beautiful Dance

A Poem by Julius Whitfield

You came vast with no means to leave

I hadnt noticed you at first, not through the darkness

and certainly not through my own close minded desperation

Then you appeared

You showed only the desire to settle, like you and yours had done years before

You crept by like a dreary shadow and I caught you with the corner of my eye and watched you sneak past and try to evade any sense of being seen.

Youre were formless

But I knew youd simply be a pest

Leaving me with the anticipation to kill you

But Ive grown so ill prepared to face you and your kind;

Trying to save a few last drops of ammunition to serve you one last beautiful dance

Ill try to wait you out

But how long can my patience hold on to something that can be taken care of in mere seconds

You arrived again

Misty and furtive

I could hear you snicker as you cursorily scampered across the way

You hid in waiting and I reacted brashly and I fudged you

I couldnt tempt the infection and let it conduct a childhood phobia that had been buried for years

You let it resurface, relapsing and carving a niche into my skull

Where I became nothing, but remains.

I let you succeed for the moment

I escaped you and your arrival

Retreating to a place where I knew you couldnt find me

I have to toughen up and take you down, someday, sooner or later

Will you still be indistinct then?

No longer a pest

Now all the anticipation has awaken me

Pushing me to kill you

Even if I am ill-prepared, I will face you and your kind

Kill and eradicate every last one that comes my way and we will dance.

Oh yes, what beautiful songs we will dance to.

You are my adversary

Closing me into your virus room

I will crush you and flush you out.

Adversity lies skin deep.

Fear is my true enemy, my fear of you, my intolerance building my trepidation and letting it creep upon me

Like a tickle, a gale of nervousness, and a gust of hostility just as I think of you smothering me, feeling you walking on me like some doormat, as if Id be dormant to let you settle.

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© 2008 Julius Whitfield


Compartment 114
Compartment 114
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Added on February 9, 2008

Author

Julius Whitfield
Julius Whitfield

St Louis, MO



About
21 yr old artists (writing, music, drawing, and performances) who has been befriended by pencils for years. I like to report my life's experiences through poetry and comedy, which are most of the time.. more..

Writing