Dance of the Looking Glass

A poem for the ages

The bodies dancing near the stage
Are aged and bent
Misshapen form
But their smiles are wide
And hips are free
Despite eyes that won’t trouble
To hide their scorn

So many moons from when
These dancers were born
And ridicule is a young man’s game
I sit, in the middle,
An observer now
And wonder who should own this shame

I trim the dancers in my mind
Smooth out skin
Taking off the years
I look at them through
This looking glass
And I see nothing to scorn
Or fear

There’s beauty in the vibrant dance
Smiles are as lovely,
Love as true
I sit between youth and age
Belonging to neither
Neither old nor new
And think, only a moment,
What I should do

Judge on the sidelines
While they enjoy the dance
Or join in the revel
Despite judging eyes
My feet tap to the music
As I look ‘round the room
Leaving behind the judgment, I rise
Hips find the rhythm
Arms reach toward the skies.

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