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Array
(
[sid] => 148996
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Ballerina Figurina
[time] => 2009-04-08 21:18:06
[hometext] => ~What good is music if the heart has forgotten how to dance?
[bodytext] => Swirling silk, embroidery, she flutters down the stairs In just a hint of lavender, and grace beyond compare Enlivening, bedazzling, the crowd enraptured stares Despite the stage she brings to life, it’s death that fills the air. “So beautiful,” the murmurs go, “so perfect, such technique” “So terrible” the critics rave, “there’s nothing new, unique” “So wonderful,” the family coos, “gets better every week” “So miserable,” a girl says, “her eyes, they look so…bleak” The girl’s eyes would meet the ones onstage, a fleeting pause But that too often sets the stage finding greater cause Though ballerina stumbled not, time-frozen heart would thaw For creativity, in truth, is born of human flaws It had not begun as such, mere middle-class reprieve; Her life upon the stage at first in contrast now, should grieve The promise lived, she tried to give her all, before she leaves And stains are all remaining clues to tears once on her sleeves What could be so cruel? To turn a wisher’s well to tomb-- Who should crush another’s dream as infant in the womb? Her tale begins much differently, to smiles, applause, and rooms Of joy and praise and encores overflowing, and not gloom The prodigy as much a gift to parents, stands a curse As talent bears not interest, and to children seems a hearse Whilst others still unburdened play, the talented rehearse-- Though failing is embarrassing, precocity is worse. She merely tried to reenact the movements she had seen on stage In play she sealed her destiny, perhaps her fate engraved For audience, insatiable, is just as much a cage But everyone showed such delight, for which she now would slave. As steps unsteady turn to grace the practice takes a swifter pace Where once applause would be received expectant eyes seek greater deeds As soon accomplished, soon decreed substandard with a sterner gaze Until at last, the strings attached, and laughter lost in routine’s haze The final step, a wanton soar, a leap to free from shackled earth And then sweet curtain call; a bow, as eyes unsoiled still see mirth But this was not the hero’s end, she’d not abandon worth For petty gold or false applause, not she, endowed at birth: A bound around, a second sound, a move the world’s not seen! A gasp aghast, a moment passed, in fear, in awe, esteem A cry, they sigh, they wonder why she’s called a “could-have been” A crash, a flash, an ankle smashed—she’ll never dance again. Ballerina, ballerina, beauty and amour Martyr to our fantasies, your feats defy the floor Mesmerized, we moralize your tale, desiring more And though our eyes immortalize your form beyond these doors Within your eyes, deep inset, lies an empty, hollow core: Figurina, figurina, buried above the boards. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 418 [topic] => 31 [informant] => EternitysLyre [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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