Guignol

Written by: Melanie X. Clarke

The musty lights corrupt the stage
Twisting the form of the heavy curtains
Framed by the stolen shadows of cherubs
A delicate music box whispers into the guilded room
A faint perfume of smoldering limes bitter the air
This night could be Prague, Vienna...
Then I conquer the stage, arise and fulfill the lights
Only to again to have my dignity murdered infront of me
Adressing a hollow room
The only half-sound, glowering laughter in my mind
The meadow of poppy-red seats stare through the dark
The lights sharpen from their soft glow
And regroup as piercing arrows
Stripping me down
Back to my soul
I questioned why the others left 
	(and they question why I stay)
Neither are sure if it's through choice, or truth
Living in this dead theatre