Dancer in the Dark

Four men sit huddled in the night

and lined hands fumble to ignite-

a thing of beauty and of light,

a dancer's passion, burning bright!

Her confidence, with time it grows;

this is her stage, and here she glows.

Her audience is ever awed,

and in their hearts they her applaud.

Relief she brings from frigid stale,

of cold dark night and bodies frail.

Her presence draws them closer in,

to watch her twirl and prance and spin.

Her heat, it permeates their souls,

and brings back memories of old,

when she was witness to the truth

of episodes of life and youth.

When at her side they love confessed,

and love they made, and love they missed.

And through it all she's confidante

to tears of joy and thoughts that haunt.

And now to them she comfort brings,

and stirs up ashes of the things

that had burnt brightly in their lives,

but were now buried deep inside.

A touch of blush returns to haunt

these faces, that are now so gaunt.

Their hearts do thaw within her arms,

they feel again a woman's charms.

  

Her many sides she does reveal

in this, her ancient, ageless reel.

The nuances of red and green.

Her dance, both raging and serene.

But finally her dance does wane,

she flickers, spits and draws away.

 and desperately they do attempt

to keep her, among them, content

alas, their efforts are in vain;

she doesn't want to entertain.

her dance refuses to renew,

and with her death they will dies too....

For they are men, and they are old,

and with her gone, they feel the cold.

 This poem was inspired by a diesel fueled garbage burn in a remote northern field camp. It turns out diesel burns in lovely colours. August 2012.