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Follow the North Star
Until you can reach
The northern lights
There we'll dance
With the spirits of old
And know that we
Found a place
To call home
I never had a chance to see the northern lights... what a sight they must be.
Kemi Dec 2024
Shall we dance a never-ending dance?
I don't want our dance to be a ballet dance spinning and losing the opportunity to lose myself in your eyes.
I don't want to modernise our dance and forget for a second that your presence is the only place I want to be.
I don't want to be hip or hop, letting go of your hands
I don't want to tap around you; the noise is killing me. Can I just dwell in your heartbeat, waiting for your words?
I don't want to quicken my step only to lose trust in you
The only chacha I want to be saying to you when I am addressing you in the Hindi language for it breaks my heart to turn my back on you for a millisecond
Yet sometimes I forget that you do not look at the outer appearance or shall ****** you like a Salsa dancer with her lover, but you are too graceful, full of wisdom, and then I think of beautiful, you come to mind.
The dance is about us, so Lord, I am listening to what dance you would like to dance with your bride.
greatsloth Dec 2024
Why do the songs
Of the fallen of love
Nibbles my heart
Yet I have never been loved

Why do the songs
Of the festival's dancers
Makes my lips jump
Yet I'm rarely filled with joy

Their slow and fast rhythm and beats
Invites my mind to imagine
A life that I didn't live
A life that I wouldn't feel

Their voices tell me stories
One that I shouldn't know
But on my mind will stay rent free
Until I grow into one dilapidated fool.
Zywa Dec 2024
The merry-go-round

dances on its wheels, swinging --


around its axis.
Composition "Danse [Taratantelle styrienne]" ("Dance [Small tarantella from Styria]", 1890, Claude Debussy), for piano, arranged for ***** by Thierry Hirsch; performed by Geurt van Lagen in the Organpark on November 29th, 2024

Collection "org anp ARK" #43
Abi Winder Dec 2024
rain soaked skies,
warmth blanketed bodies
laughing loudly
(oh god how sweet is the laughter)

gin painted lips
worn with love and passion.
voices of friends  
whispering prophecies

of a lifetime
waiting to be spent together.

all of this goodness
huddled under the shelter
of a house that holds
arms open.

with people warmed
by liquor that teaches tipsy.
that teaches joy filled tears
(i’m still echoing bellied laughter- it’s beginning to hurt)


there is so much love here.
it spills over plastic cups in hands
as a we dance
we dance.

i can not stop the gratitude
from leaving from my lips.

i can not be te ioly one that feels
all of this goodness.

(i love you,
please let us do this again.)
Bekah Halle Oct 2024
put the song on and dance,
let your hair down
throw your arms up
and dance. Feel the vibrations,
sensations revurberating,
through the trance
of life's circumstances.
Romance pulsates in the dance.
Trinkets Nov 2024
we have an understanding
you and I
carefully tiptoe around

no touch waltz game of mirrors
and pretending
we do not see
attempts to follow or to lead
all focus on to hide
enough to please believe

I am worthy of the dance
  

inner thoughts printing press
working overtime
writing stories variations
hundreds thousands
locked up overflowing
when any one would do

finding myself
grasping lighters
hiding in my pockets
desperately wanting
something real
a fire all consuming
destroying what is me
to burn all past beliefs

I would grab old stories
by the handful crumpled paper
dismiss all for just one truth
throw them all to fuel flames
for just one scribbled piece
of any story from you


answers in a conversation
surrendered for imagined somethings
the nature of human loneliness
reading only what there is to read

there never would be fires
or firework displays

no darkened smoke
no burning out
no disappointment

just endless inner libraries in decay
Zywa Nov 2024
Can't you let me dance

in the street, to the music --


I like to dream of?
Autobiographical account "Het Perpetuum Mobile van de Liefde" ("The perpetual motion machine of love", 1988, Renate Dorrestein), chapters 1 Zet eens een kroon op uw liehiefde (Crown your lo-ove), and 2 Haar kop eraf! (Off with her head!)

Collection "Old sore"
silver light Nov 2024
the brightest stars originate from nothing
but the light at the end of this painful road is fleeting away
and im afraid ill never find myself kindling

the brightest stars shine among the black sea
but i find myself enveloped within the abyss
there's no point of return for me.

the brightest stars become prismatic clouds when they die
but i know now that even when i'm gone from this world
all that will be of me is a drifting waft of smoke resting by.

the universe is a perpetual dance of light
yet i find myself waltzing with the void
away from all, yet away from blight.

i may not become a star, let alone a kindle
but i'll be away from life's hatred
outside insolent maws, away from all - i dwindle.
i may not be a star like everyone else
and their brightness may burn my skin
but where red streaks of fire rest
cold, blue light under the moon
is where i find my only solace.
disco Nov 2024
life gets so busy
and hard to control
so you continue your absences
you’re on a streak, on a roll

5, 6, 7, 8
does this effect my fate?

I know the answer, I know the truth
i always say I’ll work on it
ive said it since my youth

it becomes a hassle
a tough way to live
but you chose this life,
“oh what I’d give!”

but now you’re stuck
hanging by a thread
and your time is consumed by this
and the thoughts in your head

you can’t remember the last time you went to get coffee with your mom
or the last time you held sand in your palm
by the ocean waters, feeling the breeze
but now you’re here, killing yourself for your dream
and all you can do is remind yourself to breathe
and think of the things you want to achieve

push past your body’s limit
and start a new day
with affirmations
that don’t feel the same
as when you started to say them
you recite them anyway

scrunch your toes in your sneakers
and ballet slippers
my contemporary socks
and **** in my stomach,
under my tights and over my liver

the baby pink
so soft and sweet,
your teachers tell you “better turnout, is what you need”

sing to the radio
in your mother’s car
she takes a risk
and drives you so, so far
but god knows
your feelings are tightly kept
under your bed
in a glass jar.

they rot and rot away
until you open them up
and spill them into your notes app
or onto a blank sheet of lined paper
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