In Between Half Way

Anonymous in aristocracy,

Identity a sin,

Pale grey pathetic mask,

My pearlescent coffin.

We dance under the moonlight,

Fire in your eyes,

Decadence hides darkness,

A lonely harp sighs,

Ballroom absent of virtue,

Or emotion of any sort,

Just bleakly expensive dresses,

The ghosts host livelier court,

So thrums the revolution,

In our entwined arms,

The sound of striking match,

Begs us kiss with both our palms,

We are the necessary sacrifice,

In this masquerade ball,

Intruders on the wealthy dead,

Questions which people will tell you are unanswerable,

Inevitable,

Too profound for human consciousness.

Religion will tell you not to fear death;

We do not die.

Hope will tell you to forget death;

We are too alive.

Love will tell you to hate death;

We cannot bear the loss.

But truth?

Truth will let you embrace death,

Not as a friend,

But as a reality,

A defining movement,

The final moment,

Unanswerable,

Inevitable,