I dance with death, at midnight: when the stars hang on silver and golden threads in the black curtain we call a sky. I waltz with death, we tango. Foxtrot, samba, salsa, rumba, and cha-cha. We spin around the ballroom of earth, sliding over seas and mountains that we pretend are marbled floors.
YOU ARE READING
R A G E
PoetryMy soul within rages like a sea--it crashes against this world like the waves ravage the shoreline.
