Who are you,
When you can no longer dance-
limbs flying free, youth uncracked, able to bare the weight of your soul?
When your spirit lays shelled up, back broken, can hardly move, and old many beyond your years?
Are you still you?
Who are you,
When you no longer sing like you used to? Voice dry from inhaled abuse, and trauma stored like crutching the smoke
For a lost solace?
Is your spirit still free? Do the angels still glide within your reach, wings tipped and touching the whole of who you are?
Who are you,
When the young surpass you both in beauty and talent, and you look around you...
Nothing but fleeting moments racked up?
Who are you,
When Romance dies?
Are you still there beneathe
The withering form, tight and bandaged, sold and still endlessly breathing life into those around you?
Are you still you?
Do you die with the youth lost?
Will you remain?
Will you dance again? Will you fight?
Will your voice soar once more much beyond any of your first times?
Do you give up?
Do you dare to give up, when maybe,
You are still right at its edge?
Do you dare try to fly again, when your wings grow back, however mangled?
Who will you be....
If you
Do not,
But instead and rather,
Simply remain lost?
What's more, Dear soul...
What's more...
Is what will always remain.
Might you mourn...
and die a little if you need?
Might you accept the challenge placed at your feet?
Might you see the vastness beyond what you have done,
And lean into what you will be?
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