Whirlover - (In Rhythm, In Cadence)

The whisper of silk ribbons
yearning of and falling in with your
secluded parquet
are folded into fragments and
unknown in your silence

(in rhythm, in cadence)

Grace is yours, on stage (in stage)
and the ballad in harmony
with the porcelain gleam
in your eyes (liar)
flounder not, Ballerina
lest the truth attain your trail

Dance, Ballerina
above tiles of prosperity
it was only a whirlover
in the end

You might outfeel all
in the song you once breathed (always)
with your pirouette beneath
the pretense that it's there -
as long as it remains

(in rhythm, in cadence)

Grace is yours, on stage (in stage)
and the ballad in harmony
with the porcelain gleam
in your eyes (liar)
flounder not, Ballerina
lest the truth attain your trail

Dance, Ballerina
in the wake of ascendancy
as it was only a moment
that would end

Love is only a spill, Ballerina?
Have its edges yet withered;
do your twirls leave a teary trace?
Perhaps you'll learn that
love is gone, Ballerina -
but did you see it there?

(in rhythm, in cadence)

Grace is yours, on stage (in stage)
and the ballad in harmony
with the porcelain gleam
in your eyes (LIAR)
flounder not, Ballerina
lest the truth attain your trail

Dance, Ballerina
with the words you kept
love would have gone
in the end
(wouldn't it, Ballerina?)

It was only a whirlover
so whirl, Ballerina, whirl...

A/N - I wrote this inspired by a little something in a book called Flowers in the Attic, written by V.C. Andrews. It's sort of a bitter tease of someone who seems to have made a mistake...