A post-natal play of sorrow

We sit together to write this play, of joy and new beginnings and the wonderment of life, a generation of inspiration we combine with every single line.

We thought of all the characters, a list of names we wrote, with every scene that developed gave us a little more hope, nothing seemed impossible the chapters entice themselves.

 

Ever morning we awake; our enthusiasm stirs, we seem to get so excited every time our pen and paper touch.

We know we're entwine in our innervated mind, creativity flowed between us and our play is now a live.

But at the point of completion, before the curtain rose, you seem to lose your way and all the lines that lay before us, seem to fade away.

 

This play is now a pantomime that grows inside your mind of a world that doesn't exist, were villains and demons among the cast, learn lines of peril and hate. Deception dances on the stage and beckons everyone in, but this house is now divided and half the seats stand bear, no one laughs or smiles , confusions fills the air.

 

A little girl sits at the back of the stage, a voice that no one hears, she should of been the star of the show, the leading light, the one we all wanted to see . but it's not her fault it's all gone wrong, her lines where rearranged

 

Now as this bullshit continues, the rage and anger starts, a theatrical elution to hit you in the heart.

the audience drink the water, you poison from the stream and now their right behind you entangled in your mind,

 and no one seems to remember this play that once was mine.

 

As for me I sit out the way, my jaw upon the floor, at disbelief and disarray of how this came to be.

But now the seats stand empty and the curtain finally falls, there's no one here to shout or cheer, you're  stood here all a lone , your masterpiece is broken, redemption far from home and sorrow sings her morning song as you sweep  her empty stage.

 

The critics clap and applaud this act, of fantasy and deceit, but the people want their money back, this show is in complete and all the things you've worked for come crashing at your feet.

 

And this little girl, this super star, who sat at the back of the stage and voice could not be heard,

is centre stage, in her rightful place, in a different theatre house 

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

"Ever morning we awake; our enthusiasm stirs, we seem to get so excited every time our pen and paper touch.

We know we're entwine in our innervated mind, creativity flowed between us and our play is now a live.

But at the point of completion, before the curtain rose, you seem to lose your way and all the lines that lay before us, seem to fade away."
A splendid read and write...Thank you for sharing...:)

[Kristin Lee]

I rather like this one. Its reflections of life are quite apt. All to often what we set out to do become muddied by other things. The imagery in this is splendid. I love how you keep the dream alive through it all by having the little girl move to another stage. As if to say, "Keep your chaos, I'm going to follow my dream." That's what it's about isn't it? Following the dream. The people that really support you will support you, not some half assed version of your dream. Excellent write up.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

There was a very lyrical feel to this piece...I could see the "story" unfolding, but I also felt a very methodical beat in my head as I read the words; I liked that. Nicely done.