The future scares me
It's full of old men and women
Signing deals and orders
That make no difference to them
But for those different to them
Change prospects, steal hope,
Silence their voices first with
Shushing, then with a finger
On their lips
Then a hand on their mouth
A gag round their face
And water in their lungs.

The future scares me
Because the people making decisions
Are a generation behind
And instead of being
Slowly replaced with fresh
Younger voices, they're
Making choices that reflect
Back their views
Onto the minds of those to follow
In some never-ending circle
Of whims that feel like fact
Based on nothing
But conditioned instinct
For self-preservation.

The future scares me
Because half the world
Missed out on social progression
And discovered social media
And turned it into social war
Against those who grew up learning
How not to be like them
How not to repeat their mistakes
And not to mistake hate
For justice granted by
A God that they crushed down
Into a 3-line weapon
Against anyone they deemed unworthy.

The future scares me
Because I cannot understand the
Rational of the irrationality
Sweeping the world.
Because I was taught
To love others as myself
And base facts on evidence
But it seems like those things
Burned so deep in my core
Matter no more
And if I cannot understand
The reasons behind this
How can I know what to do
To fix it?
So I'm scared
And I'm praying that my generation
Will not be lost to the same fears
As the one before.

Now the long days begin
Reality takes over, reminding me
My life is unobserved,
To most of little
Consequence
And to me lacking
Direction
I don't know where
I'm going but my path
Is clearly marked so I
follow, unseeing
with wasted steps
in search of
some answer
or other.

Curtain call, one last time,
...
Enjoy this,
You
never wasted a second.

"Nothing is real," she says,
Her tone a cloak for her meaning
But I know her words are a plea,
A last hope to convince herself
That the darkness is no more
Than a shadow puppet in some sick play.
She would welcome emptiness,
Silence and solitude,
For her these things would be a
Relief

A rush, panic
nothing calm or sure
as if we hadn't done this ten,
twenty, thirty times before and
now a prop's missing
a line's dropped
but no-one let on,
the show musn't stop
for our touch-ups of makeup to
make us look worn
a fake limp - a real one,
a tired shirt torn,
coins on the table,
ribbon in my hair,
waistcoat, tie, jacket and
a deadly stare - there's
no time to wallow
in success or mistake
the stage is a world
and we only get one take.

Growling of gears
and years fill my mind;
channel the effort, the pain,
the suffering I never knew
and experience it all in ten
minutes of labour
and with each lift, each struggle,
let them feel it too.

Time to take on the role
It's a quick change -
But I know what I'm doing.
A top off, a shirt on,
Swap the coat,
Untie my hair - then makeup,
It all comes off easily,
My fine-tuned eyeliner no more
Than a smudge on a face wipe.
There isn't time to change my shoes
But they never get noticed
Anyway.
A glance in the mirror,
Not too long,
But enough to see an old character,
Back once again.
I head to the stage, ready,
then:

"Hi, Stephen."

The show begins.

Soon our new world
Will be revealed to us
The reality we will build
Within the emptiness
Will bleed out beyond the walls
And feed our lungs
With stories that never
Saw light until they met
Our minds.

Keeping all thoughts
On the business of entertainment
Standing in my corner
A paper cup warming
My hands and the steam
Thawing my lips after the winter
Chill became too strong.

To me this is not a
Social group but a place of
Working harder than
Anyone else to become
Better, more convincing
A liar for the sake of
Five days of glory.

I will be the best I
Can be but I will
Forget their names,
And know them only
As their puppets.

A breath, one last
pause before the onslaught
of pressure, nerves and fatigue
makes its home among
the stench of sweat
and futile deodorant.

A chance to release
and forget for a while
to keep appearances
from turning stale
and let each motion become
natural again.

Sit here with no duty
no great fight, no lines
no levels or positions -
only myself
and
the house.

What are a few tears
But water on my cheeks
When they are shed in exchange
For her eyes?

What does it matter
If I crush myself
If another's heart could be
Saved from pain?

Why wouldn't I
Let myself down
To lift her from the night
To love.

A whisper in my ear
A suggestion: wild
Pointless and fruitless,
But an unending desire,
Her skin shines,
Revealed and displayed
Tempting me,
The hungered denied,
But a hint offered,
A glimmer of quenched thirst
But stolen so quickly,
Leaving me longing,
Again.

A snap of trumpets
A wall of strings in support
True sound revealed