adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Curtain, a poem


It's time to go:
the bell has rung,
that fat lady's sung
and we applauded—

ah, yes, I know,
much less reserved
than was deserved.
We have defrauded

but me and you,
hoping to fare
on the evening air,
a starlight word

of love, or two.
It's time to leave.
Did we believe
a tale so absurd,

told by a clown?
The play's the thing
but now we bring
our curtain down.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

This was a piece I wrote some eight years ago but then was dissatisfied with, mostly on structural grounds. I've looked at it now and again and finally worked up something I can consider finished. Not good, mind you, just finished.

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