Life stared at her
from a place few
dare to venture,
a palace of
purest white,
spires reaching
to a cloudless sky’
grinning in her way,
daring existence to
exceed her domain.
But she,
she danced with
Death about the
headstones in the
sun,
carved names and
dates long forgotten,
and she remembered
them little as anyone,
but focused on her
step, graceful
as in a dream.
Clouds loomed high
above and far off,
echoes of a war
so far off,
yet so near,
and it was a
war born of Life
and Death.
And so Life crouched,
insane in her power
over all and over nothing,
but she
she danced with
Death about the
gravestones
at twilight.