This is not a toy on some gargantuan playground
To kick and catch, whirl topsy-turvy willy-nilly,
Get the girl, knock back and bray, fetch the giggles,
Kiss the toad, red rover red rover, or slug the tipple.
No! This is the lesser light of greatness; humility.
It’s a bag full of possibility; a reticent gift horse.
Look not in its mouth, nay, look but in its joy;
Your chance to alter the present spiraling course,
Quash the steps toward dooms sweeping force;
Breathing searing flame of a wiry dragon’s gasp
Coursing hastily toward pitching darkness.
This is your road from mediocrity to greatness;
To folly of some mad tyrant, bully, provocateur
Mad handing his way to inexperienced oblivion,
Or to look terror in the eye and see your own expression.
You can turn back your surge of breathing horror,
Your empire and her long in the tooth conspirators.
It is not too late to shrink back of this; your failure.
There’s time yet for courage, a nod of humbling grace.
Folly will triumph lest greatness wears your name
For madmen dance to a maddened kingdom’s charade,
Naked, bent, bloodied, and altogether headless.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
NAKED MAN'S DANCE
