Come dance with me...

They danced the dance of death so well,
to compositions scribed in hell
and when the music stopped, they fell,
no more to take the floor.

Perdition cheered, and Satan bowed,
to calls of ‘encore’ from the crowd,
He laughed at God [seemingly cowed]
with baton raised once more.

And on they came, at a command
To face the music, take the hand
of others, who had joined the band
and heard the tune before.

The devil’s smile looked strained at that;
it seemed, the cream would drown the cat
His snare skin slowed its rat-a-tat
and as his drummers swore…

A gentler, peaceful tune was heard.
and from the skies, a dove like bird,
alighted on those, now interred
’neath bloodied mud and gore…

So tranquil was the song she sung,
that dancers – now forever young -
as crimson poppies, sighing sprung
and waltz there, heretofore.

The band and leader slunk away
and all who witnessed, fell to pray,
while swearing they would never play,
again inside this door.

Ah but alas, the music calls
and man will reason for dancehalls,
for written on the bandstand walls;
Come dance with me to war.

Chris Birrane © 2012