Dance

When you are sixty you can dance...

It is not however

The dance one dances at twenty-one

When you dance the dance of freedom and grand

Illumination

When you dance at sixty

It is a dance to the grave

But it too can be liberating and joyful

As you waltz around the borders of life

Sensitive and Unafraid
Nestled next to God
Whom she claims to know

One day
She took in a crippled stranger
Who was blind and corrupt
Unable to live, unwilling to die

She did not smile at first
Unsure of the blind and corrupt man
Though he was as afraid of her
As she was awesome in her fearlessness

She taught God and happiness
He was an anarchist

Slowly she understood
That the stranger did not know what she knew
So they came to an accommodation

Each would grow.

We Pray Peace,
And Act War.
Beat our swords into plowshares?
Ah, but the world has closed to old ideas.

Lay down your arms soldier,
For who are you fighting for?
And for what?
And why?

The Tournament Of World Power
Is now into overtime.
And the players tire.

But the coaches move us,
With the pep of a teenager's drive and intellect,
Oblivious.

The blissful oblivion of conscience undone.