Poto Credit: Pixabay

I used to dance
like a pretty ballerina
in a music box
never missed a step
always joyous,
calmly awaiting
the lifting
of the gleaming top.

I swirled and danced,
bedazzling moves
marveling your eyes
my biggest treasure was
seeing your smile.

Until one day
you shut the music box
too hard
not tucking me enough
before the music faded away
or sealing the jeweled top.

The pretty ballerina fell apart
bursting into pieces
small and large.
In vain all tried
to put me back together
to see me dance.

Is it possible? I wondered
What do I do? You dared ask.
Only time, the days and nights,
the sun, the moon, and bright stars
will help the ballerina
come back to life.

First published in Mookychick as part of the call for poetry submission Kintsugi

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Passionate writer inspired by life moments and a profound desire to let her creativity fly high and her soul shine bright

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