One, two, three
Hear the loud taps of my tiny feet
Four, Five, Six
Listen to the metaphorical sounds within the beat
Seven, Eight, Nine
Encapsulate the rhythm that enlivens the heart,
Attracting callous heat, although it may.
Ten it is,
As I swirl my hip around,
Counting out the numerics,
Handy when your patience is wearing thin;
The compulsion to crack the whip noxiously,
Driving one to tunes of hip-hop and metal beats!!
Oh how the patterns repeat prophetically,
A backward piroutte,
Serendipitously lands me neat.
Situations are powerless without one’s reaction,
In times of contention,
Wave elegantly and bow out gracefully.
Twirl, sway and spin
Patter your feet against the hard garish floors,
Unyielding soles – never turn to cinder.
Embrace the cacophony of sounds,
Muffling the hollers and contemptuous silence in the surroundings,
A tempestuous numerical dance –
Audaciously flouting all contrived genre;
Enunciates the hard tones that proclives it’s rambunctious execution.