Dying dance

The soles which had once supported a pair of soft padded feet, are now all worn out and falling off in places.

The once soft satin ribbons, which had wound themselves round legs, softer than silk, are now all ragged and faded.

The shoes, that had once graced brightly lit halls and glided over waxed wooden floors, are today just an old pair of ballet slippers lying neglected in the darkness of a rough unpainted attic.

The memory of every swish and turn they had taken, the magic with which they had once danced is getting cloudy with time.

The applause, which they had come to take for granted, has been replaced by the silence of a forgotten anonymity.

They have come to the point where they fear they may never dance again, and the very thought of it adds another wrinkle to their shredded satin.
They burn with the desire to climb out of their dusty forgotten grave, to face the archlights once again, to move once more like fluid silk across the shining wooden floor, to swish and turn and to take everyone's breath away..
But even as these thoughts slither down their blue roughened surface, they know, that even if they get a chance, they wouldn't be able to hold up, would stumble and make a fool of themselves for the world to see.
They can almost hear the cold cackle of the spectators, witnessing their fall from glory, can almost see the cruel eyes staring at them as they fumbled..

May be some desires are better left to simmer into nothingness.. some lives are better doomed to a dark existence..
So they continue to lie in their little unnoticed corner, forgotten.. fading some more.. dying some more..