The Curse of Talent
He was alive, yet not alive.
He was dead, yet not dead.
He had survived centuries,
Of war, of heartbreak, of hate,
Because he danced to the beat of survival.
It was a talent of his.
He was a creature that danced,
Between life and death.
He mocked the very border,
Between sanity and madness.
He was truly inhuman,
This stranger from the night.
People envied him of this,
They worshipped him like a god.
Then they would seek to destroy him,
To endanger his 'life',
And everything he holds dear.
Just so they could watch him dance.
Dance gloriously through gruesome fields.
Leaving behind a bloody trail,
Of death and destruction.
Because that was his talent.
And when he has finished dancing,
He would find that he has lost everything.
His love, his life, his dignity, his pride.
Even his beloved enemies are gone.
And maybe, just maybe, his spirit too.
Because that was his curse.
It had turned into a cycle.
He would dance a million times,
He would lose everything,
A million times.
And every time he would hang on,
Like a drowning man clutching straws.
Because,
He would never give in.
Never.
