The Last Dance

The Last Dance
by Steve Bradbury

We danced through days that felt like years,
Through quiet hopes and hidden fears.
We moved as one, no need for sound,
Our shadows cast on moving ground.

The room was warm, the lights were low,
We followed steps we didn’t know.
But time slipped in—unseen, unplanned—
And gently pulled apart our hands.

No single fight, no final word,
Just steps undone and silence heard.
Just shadows now where once were sparks,
Now strangers standing in the dark.

Not just one loss—but many more:
The friends, the doors, the open floor.
The walls we painted, hands once held,
The dreams we built, the tears we quelled.

The art we sparked, the walls we filled,
The pulse of something rare and real.
A space for voices, raw and true—
Now silenced where they once broke through.

Yet still, we move. We lift, we part.
The music paused—but not the heart.
What once we shared still lives within,
A softer place than we have been.

So here I stand, with head held high,
Not asking how, or when, or why.
I take my stance and with grace I bow,
For this will be the last dance… for now.