Parties

I heard the sound, an ancient melody,
played on a harp, it lured me to a steeple chamber
where inside they sold haloes for celebrating whitewashed hearts
to anyone who could waltz in perfect steps
unto the sing song harmony
that hurt the ears and caused dizziness,
having to endure wearing white strait jackets
with red crosses tattooed on the forehead,
but told learning their demanding movements
would earn a seat in their cloud museum.

Never did master becoming their type of dancer,
regardless of how hard I tried,
always stumbled sooner or later,
got tired of making up lies as they did
for explaining my stubbed toes and bruised knees.

Then I pass a haunted house,
the steeple dwellers claimed was evil,
they also had music using flutes and drums,
no promises is would cure my problems,
neither did they give me restraints,
just offered a chance for my feet to play
and enjoy their idea of a party,
which made me smile and never depressed
because I wasn’t pristine in my skills.

Though it wasn’t a realm offering any airy souvenirs,
what joy derived from swaying while being myself
always felt better than working so hard,
yet ever left without guilt pangs for my flaws.

Did miss the illusion of how
all that pomp and circumstance in the ivory bondage
gave the sense for a while as if I was improving,
but then discovering the joy
of being accepted for who I really am,
in the location that faces didn’t wear alabaster masks
who thought it was redemption to listen to honesty’s serenade.