The dance of black death

odie

,South Africa

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I saw two men standing at the far end of a sand-swept landscape - looking across the land to the unfamiliar. Looking to their sides they silently acknowledge each other with a nod. lifting their spears and pulling their shields to tense shoulders - they take to stride.

Every muscle is pumped with blood. Adrenalin is streaming through their veins. they meet - it's an explosion of power, strenght, and force. their fighting portrays a dance. A dance of black death.

Inevitably we will all die someday.We as mortals should be envied. To us, every day is so much more beautiful, because we are doomed. Everything is worth so much more. We live with dignity; we can't die with it, as is it with honor.

On our earth the only thing left that is pure, is rain. By the evening after their deaths, the rain will come to wash away the blood wetting the soil. With its cleansing it will bring a new start. We should be as lucky. . . to have the rain wash over us in the evening.

Who is to die? Who decides? Which family will morn, which wife will become a widow, which son will become fatherless, and which father will have to bury his own son before his time. . . . .