The movements of the dance have become heavy and stuttered,
The preformer is weak and her body is wieghted against the force, stuggling to maintain the balance.
some whisper and wonder, some quietly watch with accusing eyes and remark ” Her ruler is sadness, her flame is darkness …the things she must do to harm”
The dancer hears and struggles the movements “Passion ” and “Truth” she steadies herself.
She tosses and fights with the weight of the ages, all with flickers of grace. Off come the shackels, off come the chains and fire burns in her eyes. A panic set in, a battle deeper and wild she moves.
Yet there is no succeeding against the unyielding and she bows to the might, her chest heaving and spirit screaming.
The crowd leaves knowing they would have conquered the night. “such weakness” they whisper and turn.
She is alone in the dark platform, slowly rising against the wreckage. No eyes upon her, no light upon her she sighs and gathers her strength.
A faraway lilting, the sing song of dawn birds. They whisp at her ear and her soul.
A movement of knowing and movement of truth and She is dancing with light in her step. No judgement received as she leaps to the seas and to nature’s delight.
A turn to the truth a smile across her face and a great performance is given. Not to the crowd, not to the king but to herself, her soul is bidden…to move with the muse, to tangle with hope and rest in the arms of courage. Her partner appears with strength in his eyes and gestures.
The two leap and repose, the dancing it goes around in the darkness unseen. A masterful piece for no mortal to see but the dawn birds, the Mother….they watch.