Music box chimes
Whirring gears
A faint little melody
Falls on deaf ears
She rises from beneath
A fair maiden of glass
Her crinoline skirt
Less childish, more class
She takes to the room
With all ease, all grace
Floating about
Not feeling out of place
Among dry, soggy faces
And coarse, rough eyes
Gray, dank people with
Pain, undisguised
She should feel weird
She should feel wrong
She should feel down
She shouldn't feel strong
It's not fair, her talent
Her faith, her joy
She has perfection
Not some trick or ploy
"She mustn't be around here
While we crumble down
It's only fair she leave us
To drown"
The faces murmur
Anger stirred from within
And pick up the ballerina
Throwing her back in
Into the prison
Of dissonant notes
And untuned bells, she's stuck
Beyond too far a moat
Crossing is unattainable
She is forced to give in
Tossed off her toes
Thrown from her peak
Ballerina gone
Tutu beside
Now all that is left
Is a pain she can't hide
YOU ARE READING
Struggle and Strive
SpiritualPart 3 in the "Contemplative Compositions" series. This is where I put my every random thought that may or may not deserve to be emblazoned on your screen. (In this edition I will probably also post some prose/flashfiction from a blog I'm writing w...
