Living in the style of a Shakespearian play,
we are all tragedies,
Perhaps with a comedy thrown in the middle.
You and I,
We’ve been the
Lovers
In this
Divine Comedy
Far Longer than
Romeo or Juliet
Could bear to wait.
Yes, we have abandoned
The Unities of
Time
Place
And Action
So harshly,
That even we
Have grown into
A bored audience;
Searching out
Our Comedic Ending
But we’ve never really been
Good at timing.
We’ve made our
Repeated Exits.
Always coming back
A Cue
Too early
Or
A Line
Too late.
Each time
Twisting words
And Actions
Trying to make
Each other fit back into
Our Plot.
But what if we are the truest
Star Crossed Lovers
As our plays don’t even
Have the same
Title?
It has always been
“To be with eachother
or
To Not be with eachother”
And I really, really don’t want
To end like Hamlet.
But the fault seems to be
In the stars,
As each of our
Actions
Seems to seek
More and more
For a resolution
That neither
Our
Stage Directions
Nor
Lines
Seem to offer.
We round ourselves out
With table work
And character development
But with each interaction
We find that we are
Static, together.
It seems as if
We were a rough draft,
Left unfinished.
So we stand on this
Threshold,
Clinging to another possible
Classic.
But dissolving into the oblivion
That all
Unfinished works of Art
must face.
We are less than a tragedy,
As our deaths are silent
And no one will ever weep at our tale,
Simply because it will never have been told.
At my brink of oblivion,
I want you to know
Our story should be a history,
Simply a reflection
On the fact
That we were
Not fiction.
Lower than
King Henry
And
King Charles,
But Still,
Real
Like
A Golden Crown
For which we did not ****,
But simply pleaded
To no avail.
