Am I alive?
So dreadfully fickle the mind tends to be!
To choose one heart over another and throw that light away,
Oh what a lovely pain!
Am I dead?
Dying?
Puppet on an unseen string,
Drawn along like a line through the water?
Do I choose?
Am I chosen?
Pray, what hope may I possibly have?
Hope for me!
Hope for heart!
Then toss away the shards like so much trash
And content in your idiocy!
Fickle, yes!
Fickle, the word,
is me!
Tired of love,
Tired of life,
Tired of myself!
Why do we not make things anew,
And discard the memories to the dump of humanity?
[What do you say?]
Weary,
So weary,
So sick of this world,
Where your 'hope' is considered a strength.
Don't you know,
Don't you see,
Your 'hope' is
DESPAIR
Waiting for the time to bloom!
Bleeding blossom clutched to the bosom,
(Ah! So many delicious letters!)
Flowering hopelessness-
Taste it on your rebel tongue!
Sickly sweet and rotting things,
'Tis all your hope shall afford
Living or dead?
Where is that line?
Step over it daintily,
like a lady,
or stumble there,
or leap it,
or walk over blindly,
or be pushed-
All paths end the same!
[All paths make you dead, so why not forge a new one?]
[Perhaps you can paint it red. Red is a lovely color.]
Song of a father, scrawling a trail
Song of a sister, drowning in fire,
Song of a girl, damned by herself,
Song of a man, cursing his fate,
Song of a child, hiding his heart,
Song of a brother, falling to sin,
Song of another, crushed by his foe
Song of a fool, caught in the web,
Song of a spider, heart set aflame,
Song of a fighter, losing her grip,
Song of a shell, never to rise,
Song of myself, bowing to God.
Song of a boy who never did stop,
And the five who went with him.
Hoping
Hoping
Hoping
Hoping
[Ah, but is Despair not the purest master?]
[Indeed.]
I smile,
And bow.
Act 1 is finished.
Shall we take a brief intermission?
