She moves fluidly on a circular stage.
Her style flawless,
she becomes the sparkle as the audience fades.
Slowly I become attractively restless
as my fear of expression fades.
I have to hold on to this moment of moving beauty.
I cannot afford to darkle,
So I hold my breath to soundly watch the beautiful dancer.
She is so beautiful and ferminine
yet I seem to capture the musculine excution of her dance,
she is a Perfect Muse, expressing her poetry in Dance
Comments about this poem (The Dancer by Don Mwaba )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings