i speak two languages... one which is verbal.

A simple tread … a walk of poise, short gentle steps upon grounds of great surveillance;

One day it feels like a runway; another, like a pirate’s plank

But I tarry on, in search of my muse….

To the eye of the stranger, it’s all a picture of innocence, a show of prowess,

Fine art; my knack and flair

Yet for me, it’s my tongue and my mane;

My only sincere language….

…Because the simple tongue limits the words of my heart.

Silhouettes mimicry my muse causing a minor baffle

But I tarry on, in search of my muse,

Despite my uncertainty of where my true muse lies,

I try to cling to the tiniest hope left, that somewhere deep in the constellations, one of the millions, just a single one up in the sky inspires me to be me.