The Dance

The Dance

We dance with Death.

Every day

from conception

to cremation -

or whatever other path to bodily annihilation -

we dance with Death.

She whirls us,

gasping,

laughing,

giddied and giggling

to the adrenalin heights of danger

and wraps us soft in swaddling arms

at night...

where visions of her,

of that sleep of death,

of that ‘good night’

sigh and sough through our dreams.

We dance with Death.

Every day

from dawn to dusk

and back again,

we look into her eyes

and see the twinkling

of eternal stars.

We dance with Death

and this is life.

She is not proud,

though some have called her

“Mighty”

and “Dreadful”.

The words tumble from her as she shakes her night-black hair

and fly like bats

away.

She is light-footed,

joyful,

life.

We dance with Death

every day

til tiredness takes our bodies

and then

we dance with Death

again.



Reviews

[Precia]

This is sublime!
I relish in the personification of death as a dance partner, beautiful and joyful, that we actually dance with all along. To know that the dance continues with that same, familiar partner beyond this particular realm is a fear-dispelling thought. Thank you.

[RuthCalderMurphy]

Thank you - that's exactly how I feel it, too.