Poetry is FUN! -- PART III
 

The Propagandist

Take heed; the hour comes!
The world is full of dancing men,
and each inspired dancer soon
(of all who shake this merry throng),
forgets the way that he had come.
To make the noon so hot and long,
as were an hour the length of life,
we stand with bellies in our backs,
and abnegate historic strife.

Now, dance with me as if we shared
a single, restless pulse of blood.
And make the beating of your heart
as quiet as an insect would
when temporal floods of amber come
to make immortal crowds of one.

The hour passes, and the grave,
distinguished by our fevered treads,
receives those bodies we have caused
to dance without their heads.



01 August, 2002