#dancers
fire, the ancient place of meeting
at days end
the meditation of flames
the dance the crackle the spit
skyward ever skyward
carbon returned to stars
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 7:14 AM UTC
On some clear night
Their tale gets retold
Silent sobs fill the air
Thick with grief and memory
As he kneels by the body of a
Dancer
With a gear-made heart
And glassed copper eyes
The ghost of her maker lingers here
And her other half
A few feet away
All in their presence hear the whispers
Of monachopsis
A prince covered in life
Tendrils of Ivy
Spring from his ankles
Slashes of moss
Dapple his shoulders
While twisting trees
Paint his back
His sobs fill the air
Thick with grief and memory
As he kneels by the body of a
Dancer
His lover’s soul split
Two halves
Two dancers
Melomania led the charge
In his demise
A kiss sealed his prison
One heart made of gears
Another smashed on the ground
Two eyes made of copper
Another pair on the floor
Chimes in the distance
One dancer goes on
Unable to stop
There’s no mourning the other
A prince covered in death
Still tendrils of Ivy
Spring from his ankles
And slashes of moss
Dapple his shoulders
While twisting trees
Paint his back
A lover nearby
Corpses of dancers
Lay down beside
Chimes in the distance
Ring without greif
His soul spilt
A prince now alone
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 12:28 AM UTC
#*The wind dancers, green
Painted toes brown, dainty feet
Planted in the mud*#
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
Marry feast
marry fist
and marry feast be over
Tables turned
scraps
dancers turned to fighters
drama
a violent rattle
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
It is late,
and the beer drips down my throat
goes to my head
meets the silence
tomorrow is too hard to think about
but tonight
my youth dances with the alcohol
they aren't good dancers
but no one is watching
and tomorrow is late
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
So the nature
the dirt of the past
is crushed under
the wave of the future
old relics of freedom
stuck in the sands of time
and an army rises
from the ashes of coffee
and newspaper stories
heroes and nightmares
metallic eyes
arms tied to strings
pulled by those
forever gluttons
in power since
the beginning
however silent
they pull
on their little
dancers
and we forget
our saviors
in this ocean
this new sea
of indifference.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
I am the sea. I am the clouds. And the dirt you carry within your dreams. i am the pain. i taste the blood. Even though it’s 2 o’clock in the mourning and time to go home. To the nothings and the peculiars of an emptiest life.
i am the child who once painted lipstick
on a pet / the grimmest hour I stood alone / i wanted to die / and now i’ve grown up without the hope of a warmer house I could call my life ||
i am the tea. i am the cup. Of no particular taste and i want to throw up / and it’s always the last one who calls me hon / you should get a better life. |||
:: 09-06-2018 ::
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
Pearls remained on the silted floor
Dimmed rays cast over the abyss
As garlands cover the ceiling
The currents persist
Come forth and dance your ballet
And flow through the waves
In everlasting grace
And save me from my boredom
Burbles occur and the reef rejoices
As muffled voices
emanate from the heavens
For they are but dancers in the oceans
And we frown upon them
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
I listen to a song of instrumental beats, I play it on repeat, and in this place, I am alone. I make love to the music: pouring my heart across the floor... My feet silently weep the echos of steadier feet
I leap, allowing my own strength to carry me, and just for a moment, only a moment, I am truly free. My body collapses gracefully to the floor, where I lay, in the sound of my own heartbeat. This is where I make a silent prayer,In appreciation that I am here.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
I hope there's a music playing
To dance along, in this farm yard
I wish everyday was peaceful, wavy
Like the breeze is the choreographer
The lengthy plants dance along
And confess, we will heal your pain
Just look at us, how happy we are
This evening will cherish my mind
By these dancers in the field, so green
I must feel the vastness inside me
Coz everything I worry, has vanished
I feel no more remorse, wasting time-
Here, I could fling into this lovely view
She gets the goosebumps everytime
The wind fondles on her belly, so soft
Must admit the show was enchanting
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 6:00 AM UTC
I wanted to write about the 1st of May
Pagan dancers and girl queens dressed as Fey
With green budding leaves in a delicate crochet
Adorning their hairline in a graceful spray
Crocus and bluebells weaved into archways
They twist their ribbons in a beautiful bouquet
In ancient ritual they move and sway
Respecting the Spring Gods their blessings to pay
I wanted to write about the 1st of May ......
But what I should be writing is a fu*king essay...!!
(C) Pixievic
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:02 AM UTC
It is late,
and the beer drips down my throat
goes to my head
meets the silence
tomorrow is too hard to think about
but tonight
my youth dances with the alcohol
they aren't good dancers
but no one is watching
and tomorrow is late
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
We are dancers,
Teardrops form a sad melody,
Forsaken in the crying woods of death,
Missery and sorrow join us.
We are dancers,
You and me,
Our sadness forms the beat,
Dancers of the national ballet of depression.
We are dancers,
You and me.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Dancers must have two extreme qualities
Intense desire , gritty fortitude , and raw courage .
. . . one two three , OK , dancers must have three extreme qualities .
Dancers actually do break a leg upon the stage
At parties they are the flight of the hummingbirds . Amazing what they do .
Their tight limber bodies often make me wonder how I would do in bed with them
My ambition was always tied to a rope that held me back
Because when I danced (after twenty-four bottles of beer)
It was on my face I always fell flat
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
Silenced by the past
Ballet dancers lie in wait
Music unwritten
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Dancers can't have eating disorders.
We are meant to be thin.
We are made this way
We are made to hide food
to starve
to throw it up
As long as no one sees us
As long as we can fake it
Cause as dancers
We have to fake it till we make it
And we aren't going to make
it if we are as fat as pigs.
People don't like watching hogs dance.
Don't worry the mirrors will tell us if we are the size of a stick or a stump.
So no I don't have an eating disorder
Dancers can't have those.
We are created this way.
{SM}
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
'Sometimes things just don't make sense and ignoring things won't make you dense, but some people can't say no, so if someday our minds do blow, from curiosity and such, we will no longer keep in our clutch, reality and questions thought, and hopefully we needn't sought the answers, non-factual, we've been taught.'
Answers are for dancers:
Never step left,
always step right.
Right on the course,
where loyalist fight.
Right in the angelic pose that they do.
In fact,
it'd be better if you weren't you.
Just act like they act and you can get by,
do as they do and never ask why.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
answers I give you to move the right way.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
because with my answers you never will stray.
But if you do,
I assure you,
you've clipped the strings,
and do know that it means
you will shunned,
an existence unseen,
by the people who dance,
the people who sing,
by all the people pulled by my string.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Colours of blue, green and pink
float by dancers dressed in
grand outfits of silver cloth.
A girl, not much older then 9,
sits in the back row of the empty auditorium
looking on in awe of what she was seeing.
She closes her eyes and imagines
herself upon the stage being the lead role.
It's always been her dream to dance like them.
A tiny tear prickles in the corner of her eye,
she gives a soft sigh, knowing it's useless to
dream of impossible things.
She turns, careful not to bump
the chairs in the row in front of her.
She grips the wheels in her hands,
and rolls out of the hall.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC