The Beauty of Dance
Though he had no plan,
Zeph stepped into the King’s throne room,
His eyes had witnessed the beheading of an innocent blind man,
And he felt the threat of doom.
Zeph had no voice,
He saw only one choice.
He must dance.
His dance spelled out innocence and guilt,
It showed birth and death.
He jumped and twirled,
Travelling nimbly across the room,
Carried by his strong, powerful legs.
Soon Zeph had everyone swept up in a little spell.
For the nobles, and even the slaves were captivated by his beauty.
Zeph knew the king was a corrupt man,
And decided that his ruler’s time had come to an end.
He danced and danced, getting closer to the throne each second.
A metre from the King, he bowed and lunged forward.
He plunged his dagger into the old man’s chest,
And warm blood seeped through gaps between his fingers.
Zeph pulled back, and stared at the Queen.
She shook her husband and screamed.
Soon, the guards came for Zeph,
And he ran towards the left.