The Dancer

The castle grounds are cold this night, the maiden watching on

The dancers turn about to start, their faces tight and drawn

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Eyes locked with coiled static frames, the moonlight charms but one

A young mind probing, feeling out the dance not yet begun

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Standing to salute the still, the dancer starts his show

A twirl to start the trained routine, elusion to and fro

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The moves come smoothly now with grace, hard gained though nights long gone

Muscles toned to move in tune, like music beckoned on

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The moves of mad emotion build as hate and love collide

Tensions rise from old intents and purposes denied

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Heartbeats thrum against the air as time forgets its place

For hours feet stamp out the song that minutes might encase

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As red as roses claims the ground, there sounds the final chord

Breathing deep with final bow, the dancer sheathes his sword

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The bloody grounds are cold this night, the maiden watching on

The dancer turns again to her; her warden of the dawn

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