The Play

He tells me - all the world's a stage! yet I know perfectly that 'neath the silent curtain, pain lies surreptitiously The waves are always blue and white as they meet the ancient sands upon which sleeps a man, a book besides him lost amongst nightmares of corners and bends the tide rises, as always. Forgotten Blue become white become red as they rise go to work, go to school, all unknowing and the sun in blood red, cannot love nor despise always there, like my scars, though more showing That book is quite heavy in my humble hands though my fingers just caress black upon yellow yet I know that 'tis only time and but space that divide myself and the grieved grey and mellow I wish to tell him - is the world a stage when applause gives no ammends What theater reanacts a cage and when the curtain drops, what ends? Thus even in that place where pharoahs are discussed over coffee one cannot forget the great sea and how pain is omnipresent 'neath the sun and the crescent and always has ways to find me