The Final Bow

Crescendo
The violins rise violently
Above the dark vault.
Tempted, trembling, bending
Such majestic creature
Just as feather —
A fearless swan
For an imaginary crowd
Crying crystal clear 
While crimson roses rain
Over her.

The thorns grow beneath 
her ballet flats bleed
She no longer feels the stage
Now, the melody fades
Dancing with death, 
Isn’t she splendid?
Spinning, spinning, spinning
She fell
For an eternal sleep.