Anthony Martello


I put my hair into a bun.
To keep it nice and neat.
Lights on my face resemble the sun.
I say prayers for my feet.

My face is made-up,
large grin layered, too.
My dues are paid up,
my face, a scared hue.

I take my last walk.
A moment to collect my thoughts.
Not a second to talk,
I no longer feel distraught.

It is my turn to take my chance.
This is my turn, my turn to dance.

Poem Submitted: Monday, March 24, 2008

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Comments about Dance by Anthony Martello

  • Coreena Dejesus (3/24/2008 1:18:00 AM)

    I like this poem.10/10 from me! Thanks for sharing.

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