Waltzing with Death

Paul Ivan Quezon

Future is a faraway place and I’m counting down the days when my life will no longer be fazed by arrogance, hatred, love, or grace.

I hope not to see the sun and its rays shedding light on shadows and greys Where the young boys and strays hideaway like falling preys.

Bring me somewhere engulfed by haze; leave me lost in an endless maze— A place usually told in stories, the preacher prays the lost souls will not be praised.

In the darkness, a creature lurks and slays strangers and those who lost their ways. But I am of this land, ravaged and razed, which the mortals wrongly portrays

As Hell, a chasm with flames set ablaze, Is no place Death will ever praise. He who reaps the souls in a chaise passionately dances with me in a haste.

I won’t have to speak a single phrase every time the hands fall to my waist For when the music starts, he sways me from the red door to the silver dais.