Cut!

 

We all want to live,

We all want to experience a world of love,

We all want to triumph and

Are enthralled by movies

Where good conquers evil,

     But they are just movies!

Sometimes, we think ourselves

In the movie,

     We play like the thespians

We have become,

Bargaining an Oscar,

Or maybe a BAFTA

Or even a GRAMMY

As you play out

The finest incidents of your life,

And you play them over and over again

Teasing and telling yourself

How to make the occasion

Better,

     Or worse but then,

We forget whom the director may be!

 

As with editorials of

The broadest of newspapers,

The director of films

Has the final say in what’s

Passed and what’s,

Given over as lies!

For he hopes only the convincing

Of his point of view,

Still, as those winning Oscars

For the daily routines of our lives,

We account to no-one,

     No-one of any importance

Because we don’t,

Own up to ourselves.

 

     The World is filled,

Filled with players and voyeurs –

All eroticised by camera and action

Lighting and music,

     But haven’t you noticed,

The world’s getting darker,

The world’s music’s getting darker still,

The soft lens has gone,

Shadows create fear, anxiety,

Loathing as we watch,

We play, and contest each other

For more dynamic the role,

 

     The world,

This theatre this ball

Filled with laughter – tears,

Happiness and sorrow,

Is dying in ways never known of before,

     And you’re still playing on,

Playing like the last band

Upon Titanic a ship,

Without questioning

Who in this world

Be the director

That’s casting each child

Now live in fear

(before they even know the dishonesty drama does play),

     You’re all still playing,

And only upon the death of your child,

Will you want upon the abandonment of Earth,

 

     Oh the director,

Blasphemous,

In-consolable with no tears of sorrow,

Not want of recognition of even

His own higher state of grace,

Beckon ye see each fraudulent cause

For misleading fine men and women,

Tear up your indecent script,

And think only the child

Dying in innocence -

From poverty of games.

 

Michael J Waite 25^th September 2013.