Dance Poem

Slàinte

Hand in hand and
Hearts in beat
They pound the music
With their feet.

The people crowd around
And cheer
To mark the passing
Of the Year

But Dancers know
What crowds know not,
They dance their dance
To bring the rot.

The tempo wrinkles
Clapping Hands
And turns lush grass
Into sands.

Smiling faces,
Now skeletal grin,
And organs start
To pool within.

Still they dance,
Out in the street,
Hand in hand,
Hearts in beat,

They do not dare
To stop their feet.

-Dig the beat-

Election time to wave
The colors and to taste the
Freedom of those amber waves
That blanket the veins of the steadfast decay of
Mighty giants with the blackest of pitch just
Like the blue of Dolly's Smokey Mountains
While there is black to usher change and
A sister too
And masses praise the difference
That no change can bring.
A veneer of fresh to cover the
Melted pot decay.