She Moves

She moves to the beating of the drum; she moves. While seagulls dance- playing catch as the call of their instincts take over...making music as they leap over watery skies; she moves.
The music halts. And she moves.

And as the music smiles... and lingers in her doorways playing catch, she swivels, in one poignant turn of grace, palm in palm, eyes closed, sliding slowly into the earth, in sweet, incoherent surrender. The unsettling corridors of her mind shift and oscillate in nauseating repetition...

While with open eyes, she tries, sometimes, to speak; healthy others miss the signs.
Then the violin begins its stormy cry, bringing music to her silence with their notes...the distant drums slowly catch on, and the emptiness leaves.

She mingles quietly, smiling now, hiding now. Looking on, as the world bustles by.
Something fills the bright morning air, with banter, footsteps, and the clock quietly ticking forward. Something fills the bright morning air, just as vacancy fills her night.

But the fire burning beside a gentle stream, somewhere, where dreams come true, let her dive, into few ghostly hours of nothing. The rhythm of the night takes over, hyptonizing her yet again, with cheeky promises of a tomorrow she well knows is only another page blown by the wind, one she never could catch before. She knows. And yet she moves, sinfully playing with the music of life. Letting the chords be fooled, by her feigned oblivion.

She may not see the grids on the map. But she knows how this song will end. And yet, she moves.