For He Has Learned To Dance

In the beginning of the end.
When youth is ultimately struggling for its own survival.
Great responsibility will weigh down young men.
Young women will cry for the solemn ness of virginities revival.
Established traditionalists will point with anger.
Engulfed in camouflaged, obscure, and vague jealousies.

For he has learned to dance
on a very high
very small limb
as if to laugh at death
and dare it
to come forth and break it.

In the early morning moonlight.
When the alcohol is coursing through his veins numbing his mind.
Accelerations exhilaration will be running through the red lights.
His inebriated beauty will snort another line.
Insecurities manifestations has encompassed this seemingly happy pair.
Casting shadows upon the obvious for distortions triumphant victories.

For he has learned to dance
on a very high
very small limb
as if to laugh at death
and dare it
to come forth and break it.
In a dimly lighted squalid room.
He fills his pipe with white chunks of prevarications desire.
In anticipations ecstasies of pleasures to come soon.
To the pipe he puts his fire.
Reaching high into the sky, his mind now has no limits.
Finding pleasures heretofore unknown to any mortal man.

For he has learned to dance
on a very high
very small limb
as if to laugh at death
and dare it
to come forth and break it.
And death
without anger
without hate
without vengeance
without pity
does come forth
again
and again
and again. . .

Michael R. Roth

 

 

 

Archived 11/20/2009