My Creative Writing: Poetry

Hey there, readers!  Well, it looks likes it’s time for another poetry piece!  This poem was inspired by the song “The Lonely” by Christina Perri, though it’s style is different than what I write with now.  But yeah, as always, I love comments, and thank you for reading!


The Dancer

No sound do her feet make
Nor are her hands empty
As she treads on the polished, springy floor.
Ever her toes and ankles ache,
And her knees hurt already –
They pay the price for her dreams to soar.

She turns the music on,
The piano plays with emotion,
And she becomes like a river’s cold, clear water:
Fluidity, her slender arms don,
Her eyes blue as the ocean,
She begins her dance without a single totter.

Limbs begin to move in time,
Feet start their soft thumping,
Her whole body writhes in molten movement,
Her weaving and winding, sublime.
On each crescendo jumping,
And every moment whirling, she embodies lament.

She reaches out to an unknown,
But pulls back and crumbles.
From the motionless heap comes a little cry –
Up looks a teary face of stone,
A mix of genuine and scumble;
For she dances to escape, to run away, to fly.

Spins, twists and she’s off balance,
But still moving, so painfully.
Aches in her hard muscles and willowy limbs
Make her wince in her stance,
And dance all the more carefully.
But she dances on as the light of day dims.

She tilts her head back,
Arms lifted up to heaven,
On her knees, as if to silently beg heaven’s God.
A crescendo in the music
With the climax on count 7,
And she has no choreography worthy to applaud.

She just stands there,
Her shoulders squared,
With feet standing firm, her eyes searching ahead.
But it’s just empty air
And again, she’s scared,
For her dancing search ends in naught instead.

So she dances on with the smooth, leaping melody,
Her movements fervent, as if screaming in rhapsody,
She mixes emotion and movement with anguish.
But she stumbles, her energy beginning to languish
And falls as the song spirals to an end and dies.

Sweat and crystal tears mingle their salty heat
And run off her face in rivulets to fall at her feet.
Her thin chest heaves and she trembles with fatigue,
Looking at her shaking little hands with old intrigue
As if they betrayed her and caused her weakness.

She sobs as the CD runs out of piano music to play,
Knowing that with the darkness at the end of the day
Comes the end of her search until she’s free tomorrow,
When she can dance again in her great, tearful sorrow,
Still searching fruitlessly for the painful, illusive answers.

So she takes off her beloved dancing shoes, for now
Empty of the dancing beauty she can in them endow.
Tomorrow is a new day – but not filled with answers,
Only many, many questions, and precious few dancers.
So she’ll come here to dance again, alone in her useless pain.


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