In theatres of perpetual                                        

performance, morning

    encores endlessly.


Repetitious renditions,

        rote audience

         curtain calls.

    
       ‘ Cancelation ‘


        Blinds closed,

       head covered,

         gone foetal.




Ryan O'Leary

The Proscribed Poet.

21 Jan 2024.


Ps.

Imagine not having a

window or curtains to

draw across its stage.


Imagine not being able

phone in and say that

you’ve got depression.


Imagine not having the

luxury of lighting night or

finding refuge from day.


Imagine passively observing

the murdering of 100 days

by evil Jews in Gaza.


Imagine looking back at

this atrocious carnage and

thinking, what did I say or do?


                  <>


             Imagine

     When time is killed,

   the witness is always

      a prime suspect!