All that really matters
in this short life
is how well we dance
through the fires in our paths.
That bitter taste in the morning
of waged servitude,
the dire consequences of *******
long and deep for simple pleasures,
and the eternal quest for imagined love,
these are the fires of our early deaths.
Warriors fight their enemies
to the point of exhaustion and collapse.
The dancers, the artists,
they use their nimble bodies
and creative minds to shuffle between
the hottest coals
with style and grace.