Like the music I was led to create my own dance,
to remember the white ease of my dancing shoes...

Raw, surreal, I would spin and spin around
and I  would saturate, drench my dreams
until I would fall down spent unable to move.
I could not rise, my music was on hold.

I  could see the char of ashes covering my dreams;
yet hope came to my heart as I finally rose
back from my brief hiatus from what I loved,
inspired by the sounds that only I could hear.

What if my feet could have talked,
told their tales of pivots and on pointes?
Would they have told about all the intricacies
or the beauty created by my trained feet?

So like the music I became the lyrics and the melody,
a dance that no one else could ever make their own...
 
  Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades  



Vote for this poem