The Dancer- Free Style Muse Generator Poetry

The Dancer

17 - October - 2002

In the womb of suffering the dancers unfold
broken limbs pirouetting off into the night
darkness folds in, maternal embrace
a love that will never let go.
Toe shoes line against the wall
ribbons yellows and fading sun scorched
and time weathered - a hardwood floor beneath it
reveals footprints in the dust.
There is one who still dances, still chases
the impossible dream, ignoring the scoffs of others,
blocking out the cries of the mind.
She dances on, passionate, involved
she is the dance - spinning faster and faster
dizzy is the world around her. Her dark hair flies
stings streaming blue eyes as they slap slap
from the force of the spin. Breathing is hard,
fast, raspy breaths - tired from the life long dance
fully committed, no going back
born of pain - that's all she knows. Pain of heartbreak,
of living each day, it is in dance she finds her only joy
faster and faster she pushes herself
pushing down memories of life - and sacrificing herself-
with all of her might - to the beauty of the moves
that no one will see.