as the tarnished copper
ripples in the flowing gown
as lights line the pool
at the foot of the obelisk
as they are counted four hundred
for every thousand death
from this modern pestilence
as life folds itself in mundane
existence and is tucked in
by time's extraordinary hands
as the sun sets on devastating
disrespect and disruption
for dawn to rise on greater hope
as the world seems to be turning
a page in history with the next day
we are all dancing on a sword
we have always been dancing on a sword
and we will always be dancing on a sword
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