Dance is like a rage
That travels from one's heart.
That passion is put into movement,
which makes you perspire off of one's face.
As candle wax smearing off
at the edge of a wooden table.
The dancers feet slither across the floor
like sharpened pillows.
Lifted across the stage,
is a dancer's leg extending
like a elegant marionette.
The determination of a dancer's soul
is a pulse expecting to be heard,
waiting for a breath to be spoken.
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