Children dancing in a graveyard, oblivious smiles to their joyful innocent ridicule,
Winter whispers into their souls reminding the owner that the cold can be cruel.
Invoking Terpsichore, they frolic with an audience of carved stones wearing moss,
Each stone watches them in grave silence, each stone erected for the pain of loss.
Names etched in fading rocks never to be spoken again look on, granite sombre,
Hands held, circles spun, the tombstones appreciate the impromptu conga,
I cannot go back to these innocent times, I am closer now to those buried beneath,
I have few dance partners this time; and children dance upon the heath.
The wind joins their foray, as if the cold air is inspired and approves,
They shiver and shake, the cold air choreographs the children’s next moves,
They move with the gusts, matching its gale, matching rhythm and wind,
Not wanting to stop, their bodies move, despite their bones cold within.
Yet one boy cannot join their dance, for his life is a void of celebrations,
His life is dark, an artificial illness, a life of death, a life of lamentations,
He looks at the graves where the dead lay, silent and still in their tombs,
Envious eyes they are for the dead know only rest, free from their wounds.
Huddled in the corner, eyes to the sky, his mind recalls altermapid dreams,
Wet eyes glisten, each tear reflects the stars, each tear a story of silent screams.
He looks to the heavens, feeling exserthy, nebula and star, distant songs of moons,
Ashes of his life blow to the sky by the cold wind, numerous as sand upon the dunes.
He savours the cold, its pure spirit holds no lies, only the truth of its essence,
Exhaling the chilled air, he blows out his pain, and feels the winds’ presence.
It surrounds his skin and hair, fills his soul, and mutes those dancing nearby,
Too cold to dance now, and the boy only hears the arctic air like a lullaby
It sings to him, with voices silent to those who danced amongst the graves,
They look on at the boy huddled in the corner, to the cold he gives praise,
A rare smile grows on his lips, and for a blissful moment in time, he finally sees,
So, he says goodbye, and stands to venture into the forest of welcoming trees,
The children don’t know where he is going, but in their hearts, they feel a truth
This boy cannot be in this world anymore, he cannot escape his painful youth,
The boy is never seen again, the children who danced observe a silent witness,
For them, life is beautiful, and so they danced, yet for the boy, only sadness.
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