The Prompter...

and whose life is it that we are cursing...

The theatrical drama unfolds again,

Behind the stage its all lust and gain,

The prompter gazes with stony eyes,

Greets the performers with reluctant lies...

 

He’s about to witness another dream,

A dream in which he leads the play,

Discouraged thoughts apart as it seems,

Useless as it was, he stopped to pray,

 

Ironical that he never misses a line,

The puppets he knows will play their parts fine,

To be this close and yet so far,

Were impulses on an ancient coronary scar,

 

An expression too wrong or an expression too right,

Were not the ones the ones that fit his write,

A broken mirror, was he, of perfection,

Broken pieces of glass never miss a reflection,

 

He will lay down his tragedies for the applause,

Cry and smile with masks for another’s cause,

In this futile play he’d give anything to change his nightmarish role,

Alas! Seems an unknown face has the remote control,

 

The weekends go on... tickets sell out,

Amidst the light of glory... the shadows of a black cloud,

He’d quit everything, yet no to dream,

And thus life will end in a darker theme,

 

We will laugh, we will cry, for we never stop to try,

Someone else won’t miss another line, someone else would tell another lie,

The applause would stay with obliterated pain,

No one knows, no one cares... the prompter won’t be missed again....