Conversations With My Dad - Poetry

Don't Dance With Your Demons

I love you so deeply…..
Speak to my heart..........
Be food for my soul.......
Your gentle voice encourages me, washes the world away;
Lifts the weight of debris, softens the earth of my flesh
Use your hands now to mold me, into your perfect fit.
Don’t dance with your demons, just take my hand
We’ll circle to the music, your body, my lead
Our gaze will lock; you’ll see only my face
As the music infuses, they rhythm soothes
We’ll glide on the dance floor in harmony perfectly timed
All on-lookers will be silent watching such a bond.


When learning it is awkward, hard to move smooth
Your muscles won’t flex or bend as they should
Patience and time train and build skill
Suddenly the dancer is beauty unveiled.
The music, is my voice, melodious as a bird
The instruments of harmony, the woodwinds of my words
My hand is the conductor, my children the notes
The audience is prepared and waiting with baited breath
Our curtain is split, rolling back like the tide
So let us work our magic while they are ready to ride.


There is so much to say, and time is at hand
Remember my instructions, wait for my prompt
Then all things come together, no note will sound flat
The notes are like drops of water which comprise the sea
The movements are like a compulsion bursting forth directed by me
The impact controlled for cause and outcome
To arouse the emotions of the anticipant crowd
They have come for a reason, let’s not let them down
Their passion will rise and their hearts will be moved
Their souls will be softened; my blood can roll in
Then return into our family held tightly in my hand.


Think of a farmer, one seed in his palm
He looks for a spot best suited for that life:
Perfect soil, sun or shade with nourishment it needs
He keeps watch to protect its growth
He loves it, supports it when its weight is too much
Till strength in its trunk help handle the size.

My hand is sufficient to meet all the needs
The plants have no worries; they grow as they’re willed
Predestined in all ways, for He know what they will be
A rose won’t grow coconuts and grass won’t become a tree
But each is perfection for its purpose and need
Beauty and function….now all is complete.
By Candace Huffmaster©