The Gypsy

She spins, slowly and seductively, faster and faster. Firelight dances with her,
shadows on the ground tremble with her, flicker and fade, faster and faster.
The beat fills her soul, thrusting into her heart like arrows from the shaft,
she spins faster and faster, moving her hips and singing to the fires, gypsy.

She raises her arms to the heavens, a celebration of earth and sky,
spinning she lets the fire fly, faster and faster. She is bound to the earth,
a trapped goddess of her world, arms stretched to the sky, faster and faster.
She slows, spinning out the colors of her heart and the cards of life's desires.

She collapses, a beautiful piece of sculpture amongst wilting summer flowers.
The fires stretch their fingers up to grasp some heaven for the gypsy girl,
the wind floats the scents of wild vanilla and cinnamon to caress that gold skin,
she isn't spinning anymore, crimson staining the gold flecks of her skin.

So she spins again, spinning away from earth and sky, fire and water, soul.
Gypsy, she is called, the fortunes of ungrateful men to tell, dancing for her soul.
Gypsy, she will die, a witch and a teller of the future, spinning out of existence.
So she spins again, faster and faster, away from fires that tell her fate to the sky.