we the living
are dying
each day
one more
step of our
funeral march
do they plod
one in front
of the other a
tedious trod
or sashay with
a bounce
side to side
are they joyful
or mournful
compelled by
white sun
or wan moon
is their spirit
emotive or
drawn and
reserved
will these days
die in dance
or in dirge
life and death
the same road
meant to carry
one journey
per person
one singular
matter of mind