William Falo

The Ballerina

The reflection judges.
The wood feels cold.
A trembling limb,
A story untold.
She turns in the dark,
Haunted by shadows
Of falling. Failing.

What if the talent
Is a lie she believes?
If the music stops short
And the crowd stares
The silence is heavy.
The ceiling is vast.
The understudy waiting
She dances everyday
to outrun the ghosts of failure.

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