The Dancing Bear sat upon a hill
telling all who chanced to listen
of his personal conquest thrill,
The rusted hinges
on the door of the fortress
that is his heart, cannot be moved.
Ancient Kings no longer rest
their spirits having been summoned
souls floating upon the River Time.
Thousands pushing forward,
millions waiting to follow
no one can explain the crowd.
What does he hold in his hand
that I cannot in mine?
His reign is sinking in the sand.
The Tablets of Law lie open,
the trial being unfurled and
life will review soon if not already.
In case you missed the nightly news,
you're only young awhile and when you
realize you're old -
too late to change your style.
Tags: poetry, Green Notebook