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Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
A little birdy told me
A woman of few words
Is usually the one
Who does the dancing
On someone's grave
Randi Dec 2019
arms around each other,
slow dancing in the dark.
steady breaths in the silence
— that was our song.
Prister Dec 2019
'Clack!'Clack!'Clack!'
Goes the shoes of children who hear Father come back.
'Thud!'thud!'thud!'
As some kids fall as they sneak out the house at night.
'Scritch!'Scritch!'Scritch!'
The sound the feet of the children make while they Dance on the thin iced lake.
'Ha'Ha'Ha'
Laughed the chlidren as they cracked the iced lake and dived into the icy cold water to dance an eternity at the bottom of a Sea.
A story about a group of 3 children who had schizophrenia and thought their father was a giant and had to dance their way to the bottom of a frozen lake to always have fun. So they sneaked out the house and drowned in the process.
Alek Mielnikow Dec 2019
I light a candle, and
watch as it dances with
its own shadow to the
rhythm of the breeze.

It reminds me of the
night that we danced.

I blow out the candle
and sit in the dark.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
Marri Dec 2019
I can’t keep giving you this favor you asked for.
I can’t keep this promise I made to you.
I’m sorry.

I’m breaking everything.
I’m shattering glass,
I’m tearing down walls,
And I am unapologetic.

I didn’t mean for it to escalate this far,
But then again,
Here we are.

I can’t keep this promise,
My skin just wants to break free.

I can’t keep giving you this favor,
My skin just wants to be against yours.

I am ripping your poems to shreds,
I am slashing tires to your sweet ride,
I am breaking the gazes between us.
I am unafraid.

I can't keep loving you,
This stupid schoolgirl crush.

I am walking over our memories,
Crushing the seeds you grew in me.

I am destroying the thought of you,
I am rendering love identical with night.

Tears don't stain my eyes,
Neither does pain.
So don't act surprised.

I am dancing again,
I am singing once more,
And I am not in love.

I am the moon once more,
I am the sun again,
And you aren't the stars.

You aren't the reason.
You aren't my rhyme.
You aren't a poem,
Let alone mine.

You're just a shell of a man that I once loved.
Even then, you're still empty.
Even the moon must go through phases of feeling empty to become whole
Marri Dec 2019
Listen.

Can't you hear the creak of the floorboards?
Can't you hear the faint call of a name?

The house still thinks you're there;
The rooms still think you're breathing.

Listen.

Can't you hear the crunch of the frost coated grass?
Can't you hear the turn of the engine?
(Roaring to life)

The earth still thinks you step there.
The car still thinks you drive there.

Feel it?

Can't you feel the sweat building up between tightly grasped hands?
Can't you feel the head so gently laid upon your arm?

The hands still think you're coming back--
The heart still thinks you're beating together.

The image of you and her dancing barefoot throughout the house still flashes.
The sound of you and her whispers still linger.
The feeling of you and her still in love is there.

Remember?

The sound of the radio still statics in and out.
The feeling of warm love still beats inside.
The sight of a smile and laughter still is engraved in the mind.

Remember?

You and her together.
You and her forever.

Remember?

She remembers.
She still sees you dancing through the house.
She still hears you whispering love melodies.
She still feels you there with her,
Lingering, tingling, staying forever--
Haunting her.
Mitch Prax Nov 2019
Hand in hand,
dancing in the snow
where time doesn't matter.
And even though we
remain in the darkest corner
upon the darkest shelf
of this antique shop,
we have found each other-
may this moment last forever.
How ephemeral the memories now seem.
As if they truly come from a world altogether unfamiliar…

Tis but a dream
The early mornings spent on ice,
The blinding lights and gorgeous whites,
Thirsty lungs,
Tired quadriceps,
And of course bruised knees.
And all of them filled to bursting with the emphatic movements,
Gestures,
Leaps,
And lifts,
Of the bladed ballerinas
That dance across my fading dreamscapes…

The ice-dancer glides effortlessly,
But with purpose austere.
Every muscle contracted in the manner most conducive
To manifesting their artistic desire.
From fingertips
To toe-picks
Their body transfigured into an instrument of emotion —
A weapon of beauty.
From start to end each routine is a metamorphosis:
Budding and blooming along a euphonious plane
Until the artist’s full potential is revealed…
The energy released —
The raw power,
Of the jumps and spins,
Kaleidoscopic fireworks
Clashing
Against the roaring white backdrop:
Each explosion
The ignition of a chambered round;
The spiralling bullet,
The impact on target…
The artist’s winter warfare actualized.

Last night,
As such ballerinas …riveting …terrifying
Danced around the panorama of my mind’s eye
I recalled that ultimate unison between flesh and spirit;
That of the figure skater
Painting their art
On a canvas most cruel.
sushii Nov 2019
the wind carried us through the night
we rode along it laughing and dancing
and then at the inn
we touched each other till we sighed
bliss under the moonlight
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