Eli Bat Nac

I smell a song but have not learned to write.
Taste the breath of words before I’ve found voice.
Until my legs will walk, reach potent height.

Childish hands bat the wind awaiting noise.
Climb icebergs to their lowest depths and back.
Convert simple expressions to decoys.

Tumbling up a staircase with a click, clack.
Finding news to bend or break a sick child.
I use my will to deftly smooth my track.

I lose the game declaring aces wild.
Fearing only what has already passed.
Anxiety echoed to spirit mild.

Hands pushed obstinately forth while soul lapsed.
Always singing, falling in self-made traps.