Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 13
A young girl peers through cracks of a locked stage door
with tiny limbs composed, she’s full of inspiration and awe
imagining she is a ballerina, nothing else, nothing more
as dancer’s plié, relevé and jeté across the stage floor

Up through the ranks she soars, building her artistic flair
pirouettes of hopes and dreams swirl through tousled hair
as she is elevated and transported into her magical place.
polyga-mystically married to musicality, beauty and grace

Choreography, strength and balance are honed into one
the pupil disappears, as the ugly duckling becomes the swan
in the Summer of her years, the pinnacle of her ability is clear
basking in the sunlight of applause, standing ovations and cheer

With her dreams realised, the stage door no longer bars her way
as she dances as though she has wings and could simply fly away
audiences provide fame and fortune as they clamour to see her
she is now world class and becomes the Prima Ballerina

When Autumn leaves start to fall, she enjoys her final curtain call
like a child she is still mesmerised by the thrill of it all
during the standing ovation listening to the audience make noise
inhaling the energy, she takes her bow with elegance and poise

Her legacy of proteges perform in tutus of silk and lace
the embodiment of beauty, dancing with passion and grace
aloft in the air on silken wings they flutter by like a butterfly
with clouds of dandelion seeds floating in the wind swept sky

A single tear rises and spills out in remembrance
of happy years fulfilled through blissful performance
her Spring alive with dreams, her Summer pure romance
Autumn full of drama and Winter…a joyous final dance

As Debussy’s ‘Clair De Lune’ fills the room her memory overflows
with thoughts of pointe ballet shoes, dancing in recitals on her toes
as the music dies, she is the Prima Ballerina the whole world knows
taking a bow with each performance after one of her shows.

Serenely content, peering through the cracks of the stage door,
reviewing the dreams she once had, but needs no more
under soft moonlight in the coolness of her Winter’s night
she slips away gracefully…once more taking flight…
After writing a number of darker themed poems I tried my hand at something light…based on a painting I saw, but failed to buy.
Written by
Mark Smith  63/M/United Kingdom
(63/M/United Kingdom)   
47
   Jill
Please log in to view and add comments on poems