Saturday, April 23, 2011

Sonja's Studio

I stepped foot, for the first time in ages,
Into a large studio, full of memories, past pages,
Of times from before, when I used to dance,
Though you couldn’t tell that of me from first glance,
The walls painted purple, just like before,
The ceiling, the walls, but not the floor,
That is polished wood, shining and bright,
With the mirrors and the bars it’s a wondrous sight,
Across the room there’s a pan of chalk,
I remember it well, for it helped me walk,
Helped me spin gracefully and jump high in the air,
Like I could fly away without a care,
Maybe that’s just my imagination,
Something of my mind’s own creation,
But as I stood in the entrance, that feeling came back,
I took off my sweater, and something slipped through a crack,
I began to dance again, just like before,
My body moved in graceful tilts across the floor,
I felt free, a feeling of grace took over,
As I spun, dipped, and maneuvered,
My hair flew around me in furious flurries,
My mind was far away in a place with no worries,
But regretfully my mind came back, my worries returned,
I pulled on my sweater, and slowly I turned,
As I walked towards the door, I stopped, then slowly looked back,
I smiled slightly, leaving that room with a feeling I had long since lacked.


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