98
Minefield Ballet
They danced.
Flickering, flying, fleeting
Spots of pink, and fluff, and motion.
Over tattered, broken earth; tiring soil.
A flash, a tap, a beat, and to flight again.
Floating, fancy and free.
A whisper in the wind.
Scattered lay ghosts, in silence, hiding
Buried in the dust and dusk.
They wait, and wait, and weight.
On plays the music; encore.
Light, and breezy, feathers all.
And motion is poetry,
Poetry emotion.
Pirouette. And the dance goes on.
A fall in camouflage, a pas de chat,
Movement. A rat-at-tat.
A grand jeté.
A click.
And silence reigns.
.
.
.
They danced.
Flickering, flying, fleeting
Spots of pink, and fluff, and motion.
Over tattered, broken earth; tiring soil.
A flash, a tap, a beat, and to flight again.
Floating, fancy and free.
A whisper in the wind.
Scattered lay ghosts, in silence, hiding
Buried in the dust and dusk.
They wait, and wait, and weight.
On plays the music; encore.
Light, and breezy, feathers all.
And motion is poetry,
Poetry emotion.
Pirouette. And the dance goes on.
A fall in camouflage, a pas de chat,
Movement. A rat-at-tat.
A grand jeté.
A click.
And silence reigns.
.
.
.