by Alex Benson

Created on: November 16, 2008   Last Updated: December 17, 2008

The Dancers

The fire burns while music rhythmically conducts the dancer's fate. All lost of shackles circling the fire, dancers show no sign of any need to escape. The drum beats as a heart that is bound to break, voices cry in tones that beg the pity of a master who is yet to be served, but the dancers do not refrain. Bodies flail and tear at evil forces unseen, uncontrolled are their bodies, unpracticed are their routine. Never on two feet does a dancer stand, they dance and tire around the fire meeting the beating drums constant demand. With time nonexistent the sun and moon rise and fall in their own immeasurable dance. The fire feeds soul hungry for its passionate flame; embers glow and make shadows of their master's pain. Reflected for none to hear or see. If should the fire recede to ash and no longer shed light upon this world, their fates untold the dancers heartbeat aches, the lack of warm from their shadows taking toll. The circle breaks the drums no longer beat and lost is the heart, lost is the rising and falling sun unnoticed as existence departs. And so in fear the dancers follow their fate, their energy all that feeds the fire the rhythm all that shows their path. None shall retire; eternal is their cycle the heartbeat all that defines how long they shall last.

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