Midnight's Dance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


“Dance,” she whispers, gazing into

The barren abyss of stripped concrete

And blurred windowpanes.

A watered draft drips and drops

Through an unsheltered crack in the

Plaster, and her vibrant turquoise eyes

Pierce the shadows.

Perhaps a prison, perhaps a castle,

She lies upon the chiseled floor,

Yearning for a rhythm to fill

Her heartbeat’s vacancy.

 

Midnight quickly sprints to adjust

The hands that grasp onto the grandfather clock

As beckoning chimes bounce throughout

The inexpressive room:

An untouched stage, craving a tempo,

Confined to ruin in obscurity.

A star crawls through the clouds and

Nullifies the glare of the fog.

And as the moisture trickles away,

Lightning battering the windowsill,

A mystifying figure emerges from

The umbrage.

 

“Dance,” he mutters, his crusted lips

And pasty face and retired eyes

Locking intently upon hers.

Perplexed, her fingers, laced with

Chipping nail polish and grief,

Reach to the void to uncover

The puzzling voice that sang to her –

A reprieve from the nightmare.

She can see him.

But he can’t see her.

 

Searching.

Longing.

Anxiously rustling.

Until her fragile fingers interlock

With his calloused hands.

The site of their touch sparks the

Sun, ravishing the canvas that

Was once so cold,

Now stained with warmer colors.

His face divulges from the eeriness,

Their eyes engaging for the first time.

 

And they dance.

A waltz to the beat of their once

Deserted footsteps.

And as they dance,

Music humming,

Light dampening the seams,

The sun intensifies as an innocent

Smile forms on his illogical face.

 

Then the grandfather clock strikes.

“How long has it been?” she mumbles,

Too engrossed in the ¾ time to

Recall the dungeon surrounding her.

 

The clock strikes again.

“Since when? What do you mean?”

He challenges,

Pained by the question.

His grin dissolves in a sea of

Disarray.

 

The clock strikes a final time,

The chimes haunting even the smallest

Corners of the cemented walls.

He vanishes, fading into chaos.

 

The cell is solemn again.

She lies down, preyed upon by the debilitating

Memory of a dance partner that could

Unlock the shackles of her own

Pandemonium.

 

 


Submitted: November 06, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Mia Kouveliotes. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Ann Sepino

This was so beautiful, like a fractured dream that stops and ends at different moments. It also reminds me of the music video for 'Chandelier' and 'Elastic heart.' Amazing job! :)

Sat, November 7th, 2020 2:13am

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