Monday, August 17, 2009

The Dancer's Lament

We came to have fun,
But instead saw a gun.
Now we must just run,
From a wannabe Sun.

The music of death,
Is so short of breath.
We should have just went
To an unarmed event.

Sad Cinderella,
Where is your fella?
Did he lose his good way,
With the old N.R.A.?

Mr. Poe felt a drop,
Of impermanence plop
Like bullets to the head,
Then in Baltimore dead.

No more dancing for you!
Ship you back to the Zoo,
Age as iron not mere flesh,
And then rust from the test.

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