Beauty

Her movements are like the wind.
Swaying to and fro smoothly with the music.
Not a beat missing nor a foot stumbling.
Even though she is of such beauty, her color is of black.
A black dress.
Always.
But her dress glides and is seen moving
Across the floor as it is of her feet.
It billows as she spins, it drags slowly behind her as she walks.
It is of silk.
Black silk.

‘Beautiful’ is all you can say.
Beauty is all you can see.
But then the spinning turns to falling.
The dress starts to tear as the feet step on it out of place.
You come to her to help.
Thinking, touching.
Holding an arm all you feel is a prick,
A pain…

Why.
She was so beautiful.
Where has it gone…
She is clunky in her steps.
Her dress.
That graceful dress that billowed when it spun.
Now pieces missing, holes seen through to the skin.
Tatters found on the floor and you feel its silk.
Its glorious black silk…
Thrown…

To her you try again.
Try to touch her, try to help her back to her feet.
Again a pain.
So you leave her…
Leave her to fall.
Fall and tear apart.
Where did the beauty go?
All you have left to see is tatters and holes.
All you have left to say is ‘pain’…