Dance of the Dead.

Obviously it's about suicide. Read it out loud.

 

Sitting on a tree swing

on a chilly, sunless day..

I push my feet off of the ground and

all my troubles go away.

 

They empty out behind me,

the wind working as a filter,

to cleanse those pesky auras

throwing me out of kilter.

 

And the wind kisses my skin

like an invisible, silken thread

in its pattern all around me...

the wind's Dance of the Dead.

 

I feel as though I'm flying,

but I'm chained to this tree.

I close my eyes, I'm in the sky:

Like a bird, I am free.

 

In reality I'm caged,

to be held down is my purpose.

All this world is, anyway,

is a crazy, untamed circus.

 

And the world is so afraid

to live freely, instead;

unfasten all their shackles in

the world's Dance of the Dead.

 

Existence isn't tame-able;

control is an illusion.

Yet everyone insists on

living fucked up, sad delusions.

 

And I unclasp my shackles, now,

and I'm flying, my arms spread.

This place no longer holds me down;

My Dance of the Dead.

 

Reviews

[.Bunnie.]

Wow...I have to say, this is by far the best poem I've read in quite some time. The way you wrote it was simple, yet full of elegance. I absolutely commend you, and I look forward to reading more from you. 20/10!!!