Monday, September 10, 2012


All the world too grand a stage
For players such as we.
That every line should be displayed
Devoid of symmetry.

Our parts, rehearsed, are living dead:
No purpose to reveal.
Old Decay comes steady on,
And hungry nips our heels.

Masks will glow in candle flame,
Rot will feed the fire.
The foolish word, a deadly thing;
A poison script inspired.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved. 

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