Sestina Poem by Roy Ballard

A billion billion stars or so
are dancing on the Milky Way
and grand they are but I must go,
because that's not enough for me;
I want to find the brimming well
and burning centre of the show.

You seek the source of all the show?
Too far away it is and so
you shall be dead, my friend, and well
before you've travelled half the way.
So swallow truth and be like me:
let angels dance and let them go.

I'd like to know where angels go
or where they come from. Tell me, show;
it's information new to me.
Perhaps some old book told you so
or did you learn another way
and are you sure you learned it well?

A thousand angels dance as well
as horses on a merry-go
upon a pin. That is the way
that I was taught. You cannot show
this wrong or even partly so;
it has been good enough for me.

But that seems craziness to me
and any of my friends as well.
Are you the sort of so-and-so
who knows he's wrong but won't let go
because he's commandeered the show
and will not stop once underway.

All right! I shall not lie, no way!
A god confided this in me:
the boss who really ran the show
has blown it up, himself as well;
ineptly let a Big Bang go
a billion years ago, or so.

God blew away his world as well
but you and me, we ‘ve time to go,
so we're the centres of the show.