For Some, dance is not just a pastime,
Its an undeniable fact of living,
A blissful slavery of mind, and body and soul.
To rise above the ashes of mediocrity is rare,
Yet the gift of dance is freely handed out to anyone,
Who cares to receive it,
Instantly shattering our daily drudgery.
The path to pursue more than the usual,
More than what is safe and known,
Is wrought with time-sharpened jagged blades that cut deep,
Blocking many from the road to something greater,
Beyond the stunted imagination of their peers.
Within the veins of the few,
Passion fills every sinew with sweet unquenchable purpose,
Calming the fear of those treacherous paths,
Though each slice burns and bleeds,
Still they take each cut,
And wear the scars with pride to signal their choice,
That undying pursuit of greater joy within every step.
(Thank You to Moria for originally posting this on her Tribe)