Eight ways to look at a curtain

this was a poem that my friend Delaney and i wote in class.

We morph from our cocoon into our translucent skins.
The brilliant colors and light consumes us.
It's no comfort to our fears
Entwinging quickly in the wind,
generated by our feet

The curtain has seen so many opening nights before.
Its edges are tattered and fraying, and
there are several moth made holes.

The dancers gallop behind the curtain
to and fro
like a giant gazelle.

My anxiety builds.
My heart pounds to the beat of the drums.
The drums that are starting the show.
The beat that has been choreographed to the dance steps.

The audiance waits excitingly on the other side of the cirtain,
as the theater fills
with the dim of their voices.

A lullaby of dancers surrounds me.
I am caught in the rhythm

The moth holes vanish from out of sight,
and I see lights and a black hole.
This black hole filled with, what is supposed to be faces,
but I only see black.

I dance without a care.
My fears are gone.
I am caught in the movement,
I am Free!