Quid Sum [Poetry]

The Black Ballerina

The Black Ballerina

My spirit sees a beautiful dance
Upon my palm, atop my hand--
From where did this child come?

I simply stand in stifled silence,
Afraid to break my dancer's balance
But--
It's far too late for her.

She spins with a spirit unrivaled in care,
Soaring, swirling, and chasing the air;
She makes my soul begin to float,
But deep within my mind I know
It's far too late for her.

The hand, though small, can do great things--
Can warm the will and grant words wings;
She chose this as her pedastal,
WIth grace unmatched, untenable--
From where did this child come?--

She flew atop the fleshy mass,
Her beauty faced with fierce contrast.
She never stops nor slows her speed
But the itching knowledge is hidd'n in me,
That it's far too late for her.

I want to let her steal my soul
And lift it from its hollow hole;
That's why she came: to dance to free
But I--
It's far too late for her.

Her gown twirls around like a black promenade
Shattering the veil of my heart's dark charade--
From where did this child come?--

If for only a moment, I feel I can see
My fantastical summit of falling debris
Raining below a balm of rebirth,
But I can't--
It's far too late for her.

The lost things once drowned
In my pain rise, now found--
From where did this child come?--

While I in oblivion, obscured, unaware,
Trapped in the nothing, grasp for the tear:
That thing ripping open
          A hole in the dearth
                       That thing baring open 
                                       A place in the earth
For only me
But I can't see
It's far too late for her.