Dancer Part I
She floats on ice as she caresses the stage,
a remembrance of why she is here.
To be part of the fantasy of sweaty men...
to give up what she holds so dear.
She sways and glides to ethereal sounds,
ignoring the piped in tune.
For the sounds in her head how sweet the sound
comes in whispers and departs to soon.
The sensual smile beguiling to those who
render their verdict with gold.
She accepts their offerings with withering heart
to appease the story told.
The story has passed through eons of time
Never changing a word or note.
She's here to pass on, though her spirit denies,
The tale she learned by rote.
Copyright © Mark Heil | Year Posted 2017
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