Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl

Inside an antique music box spins a small ballerina. She has spun for decades, her melody never ending. But what happens when she stops?

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
Your flesh a pristine nickel filled with the empty void of cracks. Your body smooth in some areas and jagged with the sharp edges of broken porcelain in others.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
Your eyes two blackholes; watching me with a sense of knowing.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
Even though the paint has long since worn off.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
As you have continuously done so since my birth.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
For when your melody comes to an end, and your rotations stop, legend says that my life will, too.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
As you had for my father.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
As you had for my grandfather.

"Twirl, Silver Dancer, Twirl"
But this time don't stop. For legend says that...

Reviews

[Lisasview]

First read of yours and I did so enjoy your poem...and, I get it...
Loved the metaphors you used.
Really quite clever...engaging...
Lisa, now in Spain..
You might enjoy one of mine Innocence...full of metaphors!

[Unspoken poet]

This is really beautiful, enjoyed the set up as well

[Ariana Omnomnom]

This is beautiful and well written but I've got no clue what it's about. I liked it though, a lot.
I'm hoping not everything you write is horror because I want to read more of your work but I'm such a scaredy cat that if it gets too spooky I might have to pass. Maybe you could reccomend some softer works?