A Dance
Memories linger
when time does not.
Life is nothing but one huge
coincidence.
Truly,
everything happens for
a reason,
almost always
unknown.
For whom does
time dance?
The wicked
or the existential?
She warps her body
so the universe
consists of
nonsense.
Time.
For whom does she dance?
The pallid
or the red?
East West North South
She knows no
direction
save for
onward.
So, on we go.
This poem is about:
Our world