Wednesday, June 13, 2007

The Show That Never Happened

[I give you the Phantom of Opera tonight]
A glass of gin,
And the beaded face
Reminds me of
Pitter patter of falling lies,
Once it was called rain,
Today it sounds like a
Dieing fire.

Sand and water
Share the same path,
Through my fingers they
Head for another drain...

‘Wish I could wet my palms
With mud again...

Shrieks that mocked some laughter,
Sighs that silenced a losing hope,
The show witnessed by a thousand deaf,
Still plays to strangle another hope.

Every flash forms a name,
Every thunder sings a rhyme,
We all pass in the maze of storm,
The fated one is a black wine.
There is a flower in every hand,
And birds chirp of the dry leaves,
I am flowing since the earth broke,
Every drop has a seeker behind.

Let it be history,
Let it be divine,
When Flora will meet theTethys of time.

May it be shored, or drunk in eyes,
I await the lily beyond tonight.
[The curtain falls]

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