Silver – stanza 10

Allison’s history was not unlike mine
A lifetime spent dancing as though there
Was no other way, escaping the tedium
Other people call real life with the barre
Repetitions of motion in a musical world
Defined in repetitions of twelve notes stacked
Whose generation remained moved apart
Speaker, piano, drum, claps, stomps, songs
She had certainly worked hard as her journal
Begins, but with only modest success, who knows
Why, blossoming is not a measured science
I started later, knew fairly easy success
Attention came easy but the work was hard
I caught a vision from within the spotlight
Created a dream from the thunder of applause
Became insistently dedicated, willful
In my pursuit of excellence and praise
Defining one by measure of the other
Praise weighted by the influence and power
Backing the fawning flow of flattery
The meditative monotony of class draining
Our time and our distress, youthful confusion
Fixated into routine and pageantry
Will the show go on? It seems unlikely
But that’s what we’ve been taught to believe
The show must go on, but death is harsh
And Courlain’s role was so integral
It would seem a disgrace to go on
While a shame to let this show die

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, novels, personal, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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