Grace

Grace short poem

Photo by liakapelke


Listen to the music draw, hear it from the pit.
I am full of shock and awe, more I won’t admit.
Light feet take me on the the trip, as I begin to form,
soundless words which you might skip, with grace as is the norm.
My technique is absolute, my attitudes are rigid.
All my movements are acute, my body must be vivid.
The strings intone upon your heart, the sounds of loss and fear.
These limbs will move to help you chart, that intimate frontier.
If you can see my story, wordless it might be.
My body’s transitory, heartfelt, untold plea.

Watch me flow with drastic ease, as I salute the sky.
Music turns to hopeful keys, my figure will imply.
As I finally arabesque, my body must stay stable.
Curtains close with no request, as ballet becomes fable

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Jeevan Collins

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I am sort of anti-prose, being a fan of bringing back the rhyme. So if you write a lot of prose, I may not comment on them, as it is not my preference. But I love you anyway!
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