The resist dance can be quiet, passive, not even sabotage.
Rather it's a yawn, a stroll away, not hid by camouflage,
that whispers loss of interest, singly desensitized. It's
bored by all the fuss, and needs not to be organized.
Rather it's individual, quite solitary, lone, not oft acting
out, and not oft overblown.
None can count its numbers, it resists even that, as it
resists great powers, the state, the bureaucrat. It
wanders off, takes not up arms, but votes with walking feet,
but not in herds collective with their collective bleat.
Scattered to the winds, slipping chains and cares, this
resist dance is such as catches many unawares.
Nebulous, without center, diffuse and hard to gauge, the
resist dance small and silent does deftly disengage.
Attention's lost to those who'd spotlight bright themselves,
once surging crowds diminishing like vanishing, mythic
elves. This resist dance cannot be countered by powers or
princedoms great for with that yawn, steps stroll away, as
powers meet blind fate.
The great and grand will stand atop an emptying field of
dreams, as the resist dance without leaders corrects as it
redeems. It partners with a patience born of long
necessity, softly, silently yawning, lackadaisical in great
gravity. None can counter its numbers, it resists even
that, as it ever resists great powers and each puffed
Royalty always tries to rise on the urging of greed and
fame, and rage against those who'd stand against their aim.
It's then a resist dance in meter proud and broad, begins
its slow procession, a silent confession even when outlawed.
One and two, not ever crowds, retire to over there, as all
the aristocracies cry out, "this is unfair." The
ordinary are so free, when freely they look away, and leave
the high and mighty sometimes to hang and sway upon the
misery halyards erected by their hand, directing many little
men to wander off, unplanned. Whither, why and
wherefore sing a trio's tune, as the resist dance gathers to
freedom's soothing croon. Wither, why and wherefore,
indeed, blow hot and cold, but always, ever in the dance,
one need never be too bold. Just go away towards
justice, which rankles, irritates the lordly, as the mighty,
lords of grand estates. But when the walkaway steps it
out, it's gone, gone, gone away. As this happens, the
mighty lords lose their mighty sway. The resist dance
is too quiet, passive, not even sabotage. Hear it's
yawn, it slips away, no need of camouflage.