Echoes in Her Twirl
She showed her freedom
There was no rustle of silk or whisper of lace,
only bare feet pounding at a furious, earthy rhythm.
Wind-whipped and bold hair unfurled like a banner,
a story untold in each motion unrolled.
There was no spotlight on her, no stage for her craft,
only earth underfoot and a rhythm in her heart.
Sun-kissed skin glistened like the desert at dawn,
muscles that rippled like a fresh storm.
She swirled like a dervish, a tornado of dust,
her eyes closed to the world, in the blissful trust of creation.
Hands molded the air and painted stories on the breeze.
Unspoken symphony floating through the woods.
She moved with raw, primal strength rather than grace.
A fire broke out, raging brightly.
She fought shadows and followed air whispers.
A warrior goddess with plenty of freedom.
Her laughing was unrestrained, a happy, primal sound, as the earth pounded beneath her, like a drum in the dirt.
She performed for the sun, the moon, and the stars.
For the distant echo of forefathers’ whispers.
A galaxy twirled in the swirl of her skirt.
A story began with the pounding of her feet.
There is no need for an audience, and there is no need for the curtain to fall.
She danced for herself and only herself.
She is not bound by applause, nor does she wear a crown on her brow.
She danced for the moon’s sweet pledge, the sunrise.
No master, cage, or chains can keep you in place.
She spirals in defiance, a lighthouse.
Her swirling resistance spun a tapestry.
A hard-won war for unshakable independence.
There was no request for permission, no murmur of need.
Just rhythm and fury, an unbridled spirit.
Allow the wind to carry her wild, joyful stride.
Every step wide was a testament whispered.
Unleash your own flames, be fiercely, unapologetically you, a message sounds true in the way she moves.
