Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2013
The clock ticks on by,
Sitting in your carriage,
Full of endless excitement,
The ball is calling you.

Entering, you climb up those steps,
The steps you know,
Will make you ,
Or snap you in two.

The chandler is all lit,
Just for you,
They're all waiting for you,
Descend those steps.

Step, heel, toe,spin
You've been dancing all night ,
That you've simply forgotten,
You have to be home at 12.

You can't seem to stop ,
Has the dancing put you in a trance ?
Or was it that man?
That hasn't stopped smiling at you ?

You can't see his face,
Or anyone's ,
They're all covered,
In pretty little masks,
Unlike you.

To hide their real faces,
You cannot know what they've done,
But they can see you,
For what you've really done

Oh , what's this ,
The clock chimes 12,
You're too late,
No way to escape now.

So you'll spend the rest of your life ,
With step, heel, toe,spin
Forever in your mind,
Not other routine will do.

You'll spend each night dancing with someone new,
And only then will they reveal their masks,
And then you can finally see,
What I've really done.
Adeline Dean
Written by
Adeline Dean  Paris
(Paris)   
690
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems