We dance a proud waltz

showcased in moonglow.

The stars, ever high and mighty

ever watching our darkdance.

But we don't care about their blank stares

their cold, dead eyes scrutinizing us.

Waiting for a missed cue

A trampling of the toes.

A different sequence.

So they may cackle and whisper

about us in the constellations.

I say, let them mock!

Waste no time on what stars think.

For we are of Earth, they of darkness

The input of stars is not meanwhile

to those firmly rooted and forged

on the green land of Earth.

The harsh glow they show

A veneer: for stars inside

Are dead, bleak.... fleeting.

I say, let us miss cues,

trample toes, be imperfect!

Let us learn to tango with three.

Adapt. invent, tinker, shape your dance

in order to make it fit YOU.

If the stars cry, "That's wrong!".

That their same swing

done for eternity, is the only way.

You must ask: What do stars know of Earth?

Have they ever been in a disaster?

Have they survived their worst nightmare,

Scarred for life, trying to move one?

Have they lost it all?

And with courage and perseverance

Built. It. Back.

Hand. By. Hand.

Have they even met you?

Know you are going through?

Sheltered in the dark, they do not.

Why let false light set tempo?

Your dance is your dance.

It's YOURS, not THEIRS.

Plain and simple.

So I say, boogie to your own drum

Or mybe even a trumpet.

A lyre, if that is your fancy.

No one may police your dance, but you.

Your brain alone tell your feet to move, after all.

Dance the dance you, and you yourself, want.

And if the stars explode,

avert your gaze, don't miss a single step to them.

Just continue your smooth moves.

Your proud waltz.

Your courageous cha-cha.

And shuffle the night away.