
She dances
Like a swan;
Her feet pointed, spiralling
Through clouds of mist,
While others watch
Simply amazed
By her talent –
Her grace.
Daring to make use
Of every corner on the stage.
She spins.
Her dress the colour of a swan’s
Feathers,
Her hair the shade
Of an angel’s
Halo.
Through her steps,
Carefully practiced and
Awed by her audience,
She doesn’t show
What’s broken
Beneath.
Her grace is presented through
A series of spiralling limbs,
Mixed with fury and fire.
They don’t know.
Her heart is bruised
And snapped in two,
Like a swan’s neck,
When it meets
A predator.
Her dancing becomes
Frantic as the
Music declares the final sequence.
Spinning, twisting,
And whirling,
Her head a flurry
Of visions.
Desperate to rid of them,
Of the past that
Blankets her mind,
She twirls, and leaps
Landing poised and
Ready to demonstrate her
Fire.
As she turns,
Her dress hits the lights,
And she catches
Aflame.