through turbulent tides

into twinkling forests

down rivers

of my memory…

time washes over me

clearing up

answers

I never understood.

I don’t listen

for noise

to fill the silence.

I don’t advance,

because

I don’t believe

nature

advances.

My nature

is power

not the kind that can be taken—

only cultivated.

I want to know everything

not to theorize

but to be the whisper in the wind.

How does a man, become a great man?

I see them

in the movies

their white smiles under silver sunglasses

before battle

their attitude, that takes them to a high altitude

no matter the threat, their style is a triple threat

a force, with balls, that will step-out in faith

risk

versus

rewards

a combat confidence, expressed

with passion, perfectly controlled

A style,

that dances to the song of danger.

10 thoughts on “A Style, that Dances to the Song of Danger”

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