poem: the man that dances on volcanoes

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People talk of the man

That dances on the volcano's edge;

A shadow in the distance who watches the world

Through a smoke-filled cloud

Of ash and hope and dreams.

A silhouette of ambition

Sweeping across the shagged edges,

Staring neither up nor down

But straight-ahead –

Swaying to a song that plays for no ears but his own.

A symbol of defiance

In the blueish-grey hills 

Standing tall and strong and proud.

Atop weary feet he shuffles and strides

And steps to a beat he creates.

An echo rings out from afar

And speaks softly to the ones that listen.

And those that pass see no sense

In why a man dare take such a chance,

But men such as he

Are born to be free

And find nowhere else

For them to dance.