Did we forget the last dance? Do we regret the last chance?
Where should we be and what should we follow?
Illusion wraps tightly and spirit journeys become hollow;
tuned to the tango of time entropy claims its rogations.
On Death's waiting list I am caught in the sham
that dictates gravity's pull-down to the grave,
where even big personalities become slaves
to unavoidable dimensions of inescapable biology.
The joy of youth verily turns uncouth,
as ligaments and sinews their proscribed strike stage,
while claiming union rights in fallen humankind's cage,
whence lamentable terms and conditions apply.
Bah! My heart dances in the Garden of Eden forever:
albeit, the Devil's deceits are no match for God's promise of love
old things pass away: all things become a new treasure-trove
safely tucked away in my heart of hope.