… Graceful as dancer’s arabesque and bow, Our lives appear serene and without stress, A gentle dance around pure nothingness To which we sacrifice the here and now. Our dreams are lovely and our game is bright, So finely tuned, with many artful turns, But deep beneath the tranquil surface burns Longing for blood, barbarity, and night. Freely our life revolves, and every breath Is free as air; we live so playfully, But secretly we crave reality: Begetting, birth, and suffering, and death.
