We are all unstable; yet some of us balance better than others.

There is the strongman who stands upon the ground balancing;
And nothing (not wind, nor rain, nor sleet, nor snow) will make him move;
A thousand tiny muscles constantly adjusting inside;
While he smiles, immobile, before the onslaught.

There is the child playing with motion;
Mother gently holding hands;
Who swings from side to side until he holds the spot;
And their laughter makes him fall.

There are the lovers, hands interchanged;
One swaying left and the other swaying right;
As they learn that balance together
Is easier than balance alone.

And then there are the dancers, 
Who flow the instability from extreme to extreme, 
Swaying to some beat they hear and we see,
And we cannot look away.

True beauty though, 
True beauty,
Comes in the circus. 
As the dancers hold the lovers
Who hold the children
Who hold the strong men
Who hold the dancers;
As the music courses and
A rhythm takes hold 
That hides the imperfections;
We strum strum strum
In beat beat beat
To the sway sway sway;
And balance together
With music from nowhere
Turns instability to art.