They say you must play a part
upon the burning boards of a life
far above days to never really be.
It is an act performed by amateurs
until the final curtain call
in the dark corners of forgotten hopes.
Glaring at costumes worn by a fall
faded within the fibers of another time
the shape of a marionette becomes a statue.
The sketch of a being spirals in its prison
hesitating between a swing and a slide
on the playground of an apocalyptic eve.
This thespian bows under the boos
for his limbs refuse to grow
as he yet laughs and pirouettes away.
Gesture for a forgetting realm
penniless fool on a barren stage
his audience leaves in disbelief.
He is the man who neglected to become
a shadow of the giant awaiting backstage
alone like a child among aging generals.