She dances in the moonlight,
Her steps so soft and light.
Once a ballerina,
Now a ghost that stalks the night.dead_ballerina_by_lakhja-d3evjil

Her cold and unseen presence,
Today she dances still.
Down where she was murdered,
At the old abandoned mill.

Lucinda was always favored,
In town among the men.
They always loved to dance with her,
And brag about where they’d been.

scary_mill_by_rosenberry-d2ypjsyUntil one dark and windy morning,
When the owner of the mill,
Forced her into his workshop,
And made her dance against her will.

She tried to scream and tried to shout,
Bathed in the tears she was crying out.
But he held her to the ground,
And no one heard a sound.

And when the music stopped,
When finally he was through.
He lifted up the axe,
And knew what he must do.

On the walls the blood remains,
In its agonizing stains.
Painting a portrait,
Of the horror and the pain.

Now upon the wind-blown mornings,
before the sun will rise.
She dances in the moonlight.
And still within her eyes,
You can see where terror lies.
As she dances out of sight.the_dead_ballerina_by_ultimia-d32ogfq


About paulsdahlman

Born in Southern California, raised on the road and now growing roots in New England. I am on the journey of my lifetime. May the footprints I leave behind form the words to my story.
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