A dance with Death.
Are narrowing concept. Isn't everything cancer? Inertia? Nothing is! Stopping is never a reality. My true self prefers another existence. Yet, here I sit watching the slow twisting. Many scaffolds dangling upon Reelled out unending lines, Where their feet hang twitching. Why? To visit those condemned at the moment of their mortality. What is that? Or to go follow them to a graveside - freshly dug - stand head bowed. Death mustn't be at all! Don't you see? Thursday's steps are truly a stampede Of the slowly shuffling: A plague of never ceding feet; Unknowing That they hover before a crucial footfall. Decisions are made. Is this the waiting room? Is this purgatory? "Please take a seat" And we'll deliver it. Death is our service Striking off the moments. With a faux smile Pointless spoken words "Are you well?" Wetherby: Meso A place unchallenged perpetually stepping; mundane! What is death? "It's nice and c...