A dance

Toes pointed, she jumps
A twirl and she lands

She feels free
Amongst the roses
Amongst the thorns
The pain doesn't bother her

The pain within is stronger
It waits to break forth
It waits to be obliterated

The pain will be gone

The pain is as clay
It builds up in her
Dirty and useless

But as she dances
The pain is molded
The clay in the hands of the Great Potter

Now she is dead
She mingles with the ashes
She and they as one

She waits
She waits
Her pain suppressed.

And still the dance goes on

Dance dear child, dance
Let the voices go away
I hear your pain
I see the ashes as your kin
And I see the pain clay.
For tomorrow,
the pot awaits.