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dance (Remove filter)

The music is calling

Preamble: for this Saturday's theme of DANCE.

 

I hear music. The beat begins.

It taps gently at my consciousness and slowly enters in.

It slides through my skull like the lift of warm caffeine

Raising pulse, slowing thoughts, it’s as if I’m in a dream…

Step by step I’m vanquished, it takes over my brain

It numbs my higher functions, until nothing remains

But the essence of...

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DancemusicSaturday funSaturday Rhymers Club

Wind Dance

Sycamore leaves dance

In only the lightest breeze

They never turn askance

Like leaves on other trees

 

Sycamore leaves flair

Within their perfect ballet

In just the lightest air

Blowing up the valley

 

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windbreezeleavestreessycamoredance

Just dance

Its midnight

And all we are going to do is dance

We can’t drink anymore

We drank until we

had our fill

Now the beat of the music controls us

We couldn’t be still even if we wanted to be

The rhythm has us in its grip

And all we can do is dance

Just dance – moves our bodies in time with the tune

Its to loud to make conversation

And there are no words that we need

...

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Dancefireperfume

Give peace a chance

They dance in the shadows
Made by the trees
Branches stretched out
With long fingers
Claw like, grabbing
Taking a hold
And ripping at the soul
They dance
On the beaches
As the waves
Wash over them
Dragging them under
Taking their breath away
Saturated, sodden
Soaked to the skin
They dance
On a knife edge
Broken glass under feet
Bloodshot eyes
Roses and chocolate
A torn tapestry
...

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Dancerainlibrarybookstapestry

Not Mine

I have a face

But it’s not my face

It’s a face with flawless skin

 

And I have eyes

But they're not my eyes

Lined in black

With upraised wings

 

And the glitter and gold above them

Is not mine either

Shimmering and throwing light

When I blink

 

And I smile

But it’s not my smile

A practiced smile framed with bright red lips

That are not mine either

...

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dance

Grim

The flower grew within, the fumes were fornicated. Bastards grew on paper, spilt ink spread their legs to the core of chaos. Thus the evil brewed bombs. You don’t see a shadow in the dark docile day. Only when it burns you can see your damned skin and the fire. The shadow of a truth turning grey, sat beside by the yellow day!

 

PC: Unknown

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balletdancedepressiongrimpainpoetry

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