Theatre poetry

*the curtain rolls aside The stage sets The lights flicker on Everybody is waiting.* And suddenly it begins The fake facade The fake tears that cascade This entire thing is an act Nothing but predators in the night. And though everyone wants to fight Things just get too damn tight. We want to be exposed to the light But the play begins to take flight And stunts are executed at devestating heights This play The theatre is all an act. The metaphorical phrase for life. And damned at best The masquerade of faults The sins The lies Beginning to become more of a circus. And as this blood runs red This...act runs dark. The curtains still pried open Set on the openess of a prairie. These people. The ones who lead us on The never ending Mirage. Until this act is exposed The audience shall be snatched into grievience. The fakes strut around us. They show the underside quickly. The ugly scene That proved to be the climax. The jaw dropping shit-canned conclusion. But imagine the actors Exposed and afraid. Alone without makeup and masks. Turning until someone asks where the fucks the director? Abandonment from the puppeteer himself Waiting for everyone else to Show themselves For who they really are.

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