A Short Play

Life is a short play…


For ninety-six seasons a ghostly promenade,

how much salience is penned on this page?

For the rest, until my prompt death,

the story is but a candlelit stage.


I am ill, I always have been…


How subtle is this bearing of my sight.

A sound mind calls for daylight’s song.

Yet you shall turn mad if you stay for long.

I keep my comport with my hysterical cry.

Fryderyk’s ballades bring me half a moon;

velvet curtains in belladonna dye.

I stood before my nightshade friends.

this wistful air fondles my fantastical lie.

So my dear friend, stay for a little,

for our tales will by this land belittled.

For all those years are but an evening’s play;

there is no meaning nor a riddle.


your torment outgrew your weary soul.


Published in: on 12/09/2016 at 4:21 AM  Leave a Comment  

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