Diagnostically Diagonally Dangerous Dancing Poem by Paul Brookes

entering the arena, judgements not far off,
we wait sand clawing feet, lions enraged sense blood.
the Muse she laughs
'entertainment always.' she says 'entails blood.'
'usually.' mine I say

she stares her hard stare with her loganberry eyes
'life is a battlefield.' she says 'winners and losers.'
not playing her game I stare straight back.

'ah my little cats paw.' she says 'let battle commence.'
but putting down my pen I retreat.
'sometimes the loser.' I say.' ends up winning.
sometimes the critics are not always the arbitrator of fate
and sometimes the Muse sucks lemons.
a pyrrhic victory at best I think

I hear the Muse laughing she senses blood.
'shall we dance? ' she asks