He was back, the Master of her dance, but life has changed.
Dance, dance, wherever you may be,
I am the Lord of the Dance said he
And I lead you all, wherever you may be,
And I lead you all to the Dance, said he,*
His message, after ten years.
Frantic, she searched as for a beloved toy.
Magical enchanted shoes; they like he,
had been golden keys to unlock joy.
Found! Buried in past treasures,
lost hopes, perhaps and maybes.
Red silk pumps, glistening,
pulling her into forgotten memories.
The very act of picking them up,
a tingle ran from hand to spine.
A smear of dried blood, rusty odor,
lightening bolt of horror came to mind.
Her bought blood, dancing,
hour after hour, long past pain.
Each performance must be worthy.
A forced smile, his love to gain.
Beneath a crystal chandelier,
rewards a look of pride, for his doll.
His expressions were a wind up key.
After all, she was his property.
His lordship arrives, a well known task master.
Ten years: older, softer, shorter, grey hair.
No commanding presence, just hot air.
Nothing to fear, no deep voice to scare.
She stands tall, speaks with conviction,
"I will no longer break and tear",
lacing up pink satin ballet slippers.
She leads this dance, lights on golden hair.
Her long legs and mind strong,
a mighty heart; now a warm red.
No man will again hold her captive.
Nothing more needed to be said.
By Kathie Stehr