Dedicated to my Lord of the Dance, to the man who inspired this poem, and to all who seek stardom over servanthood.

May you learn that to possess joy, one must perform for another's glory.

Lord of the Dance?

His costume glitters with sequins and jewels
His dancing shoes glisten and shine
The music begins as his dancers dance in,
Feet tapping in rhythmic line

He waits for his cue in the shadows and smiles
He’s hearing the roar of the crowd
The sound of cheers is sweet in his ears
They call to him, clear and loud

(But what is he left with,
When the applause dies away and the cheering ceases?
What is he left with?)

The spotlight dazzles his eyes as he enters
The audience screams out his name
And then with a leap and a blurring of feet
He dances as wild as a flame

He’s the star of his show, this spectacle grand
The stage is his world without end
A vast expanse on which to dance
Where Magic and Realism blend

(But what is he left with,
When the dance is no more and the stage is bare?
What is he left with?)

The grand finale now draws to a close
A standing ovation at last!
They shout for more, “Encore! Encore!”
So he grants to them one final dance

Then he flashes a smile and blows them a kiss
He lifts his arms high, he bows
Drunk on fame and the praise of his name
He basks in what fortune allows

(But what is he left with,
When the thrill passes and the glory fades?
What is he left with?)

He flirts with the ladies, poses for cameras
And waves at the crowd of his fans
Autographs here and contracts there
And for the next program, he plans
But the spark in his eyes is empty and false
And his soul remains unsatisfied
He can't fill his desire or kindle true fire
Despite everything that he’s tried.

(For what is he left with,
When everyone leaves and loneliness surrounds him?
What is he left with?)

He has chosen fans over true friendship.
Fleeting thrills over everlasting joy.
Greedy ambition over genuine fire.
Stardom over servanthood.
Arrogance over humility.
Lust over love.

He refuses to admit it...but in his heart of hearts, he knows.
There is an aching emptiness which he cannot fill.

For he would rather be the lord of the dance
Than to serve the Lord of the Dance.

A/N: As some of you may have guessed, this poem was inspired by the riverdance legend, Michael Flately. I recently saw some of his big spectacular shows (on YouTube, hehe), and well...he's insanely talented and I LOVE some of what he's done, but I wasn't impressed by what I saw of his attitude. (And from what I've heard, his ego's the size of Jupiter). I saw no joy in his dancing; only pride and emptiness. Whether that is how he really is or not, I don't know. Forgive me if I'm being judgmental. I'm not trying to attack him personally or anything; I'm just sharing what my impressions were on his attitude, hence the poem. And anyone could be this way, not just him.

Anyway, shortly after watching his stuff, these random phrases of poetry began flashing through my head. I jotted them down as they came to me, and soon I had...a big jumbled mess.

So I played around with them, and then I realized...they were trying to tell a story. Soon I had an "almost-poem", teehee. :-) It was frustrating, 'cause it couldn't decide WHAT it wanted to be, but I wrestled with it and tweaked it and FINALLY it all came together. I had a poem.

I hope you all enjoyed this, and may the Lord of the Dance bless the life that He's choreographed for you. :-)