The stage was a frozen river,
each step, it feels, slow, rigid;
each step, unsafe and severe,
the cold water beneath, vivid;
yet, the fear of falling to the colds will always appear.
The crowd roared, as if
they were souls from hell that demands:
"DANCE. SING. DON'T BE STIFF."
I stare at the spotlight, cup my face with my hand,
as tears of fear, cascaded down my cheeks.
Each time the curtains open, I
picture a scene wherein I fail,
then I'll try not to cry
as they laugh while I flail,
frozen in place; in fear; in stage fright.
YOU ARE READING
Petals & Dust
PoetryP E T A L S flaking away from my soul, waking me up to the truth. Soiling the ground beneath it; carcasses fragile and hollow. D U S T blown away by the winds, feathering out of sight; the crust, silently creeping away, crowning the sadness I utte...
