Esoteric, alive, my spirit called out to me,
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Her beauty reaching out for me to grasp.
I tried stretching my hand forward
but I could not reach her fingertips.
I was held by a proverbia dangling sword,
Vulnerable as Democlese,
Close above my head,
supported by a thin silk string.
Fragile, the Holy Bible ever near.
I was weighed in the balance,
not found wanting, but yearning.
The church and my family with expectations
too high for my hearts desires.
My fear, dare I step toward her
The sword would fall
Splitting my head with great loss.
I complied for the sake of love.
So the sword dangled on,
Following me from age to age.
Occasionally my Spirit took my hand
And we secretly danced.
Her features a joyous simile of my own.
For twenty years, I pined for her.
Twenty stolen years.
One day I grabbed her hand,
Gripping it with all my strength.
Just as the silken thread broke
She pulled me in.
As one, we wept and laughed.
We flew on the air of freedom.
Her countenance lighting my face.
The sword now in my hand,
Gleaming steel in the sunlight.
Daring oppression to move closer
Knowing it would try.
As its dark face started toward me
My Spirit screamed out, "yeild the sword,
Dance toward the light, you are free!"
Those I love were free too
The oppresion was artificial
the sacrifice for naught.
Truth, faith, hope,
Those things of eternity, real.
If only I had known
that it had always been up to me.
"If you have the chance to sit it out or dance, I just say Dance." writen by Mark Sanders recorded by LeeAnn Womack