Danse Macabre
We live in the now, not in past tenses,
vibrant, detached, free from fear and desire,
bliss magnetism heightening our senses,
no worldly objects for which we aspire,
essence of our being in heart afire.
As thought forms dance, we watch them with a smile,
wisps of smoke to amuse us for a while,
spasms of ego dead by which they are led,
as labours of mind no longer in style,
for we dwell in our heart, not in the head.
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