The Dance

From a distance,
The dancer is beautiful:
Smooth skin, pale like a porcelain doll
Full lips, red as blood freshly bled on a battlefield
Long and dark and wavy hair, like a wave of shadows falling from her head down her back
And delicate, long limbs, perfect for dancing.
But he sees her for what she really is,
He can see the shadows bruising the bleached skin under her eyes and
The blood where the blood-red lips have been cut
And the tangles in the raven black hair, and
The obvious fact that all in the crowd seemed to be
Oblivious to.
They sighed and swayed as she danced across the stage,
Charmed and entranced by the dance.
But then he began to see through the
Swift movements and elegant sweeps.
He saw the strings above her fingers and
He saw the deity tugging on them and
He saw the jerks in her movements and
He saw how she had become a marionette and
He saw how she was no longer in control of herself, her life, her being and
He saw her and
He saw and
He saw and
He saw right through
The Dance.
Category:Jenna Fraen
Category:Poetry