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In the streets of oppression the dancers slink,
twirling in unison, jumping to the constant beat.
row by row, a ghostly militia,
only shadows from dimmed light.
They are unknown, by they are everyone
with cramped feet just flying,
marching to the never ending drums.
With their faces undefined, blind,
none of them could see
the drummer boy danced with them.

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so_joyThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
Feb. 20, 2013 at 9:34 am:
Incredible! I absolutely fell in love with this! You are an amazing poet! Please read, rate, and comment on my poems! It would mean a lot :) Thanks!
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mseiner This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 3, 2012 at 1:59 pm:
I reaally liked how the rhythm of the poem sounded like the movement of dancing.
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