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Reflections Scattered on the Marble Floor
There she dances.
She dances there broken.
Not shards of clear glass;
But of what used to be a mirror.
On point.
Rise.
Fall.
Pitter patter patter.
Tip.
Toe.
Her shadow glides with her
Like a duel between rivals.
She pays no mind.
Tears dripping on the marble floor.
As she looks in depth
At the shards of herself.
Hopes to see what she envies.
Who she was before.
But reflecting is the shadow.
And the girl known as
Ghost.
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This poem was written while listening to Sonata No. 14 "Moonlight" in C-Sharp. Which was origionally composed by Ludwig van Beethoven. I find that listening to classical music uncovers the most refined of poets. Wheter they write simple peices or deep philiosophy. I recomend every poet try it. The poem dipects a prima ballerina performing. But who for? That is up to the reader to decide.