Dialogue from a Tragedy

Just a quick note: This is a scene from a play I am attempting to write, my first. I think it has somewhat of a poetic nature to it that's why I posted it up here. So let me know you think.


Dialogue from a Tragedy.


(Laocoon opens the scene unknowing of Zarathus' hidden presence).


Laocoon: I have seen

               Man's greedy fingers spread

               Over this planet.

               There is no real fear

               Of repercussion.


(From a shadowed corner Zarathus engages with a loud dominance in his voice).


Zarathus: Is it not ours to destroy?

               Have we not laboured these lands enough?

               Is there a law against survival?


(Laocoon, unmoved by this sudden participation replies)


Laocoon: There is only one law

                And that is

               The law of the Just.


Zarathus: I have beheaded trees

              And climbed men

              To further my profit.

              It appears your law is absent.


Laocoon: Silence is not absence.

               These prisons are invisible

               They cage men inside themselves.


Zarathus: Alas!

              You speak of the guilty drunks

              Who weep in thought

              Of a life spent in murder.

              But I have known the truly evil

              And do not forget -

              Only the good feel guilty.


Laocoon: For those who reject redemption

               Shall have regret thrust upon them

               In fear of Hell.


Zarathus: Do you really believe

              They fear Hell?

              These men are eternal already

              The wars they have waged

              Will live forever

              And some of them

              Are friends of God.


(Laocoon hangs his head and lowers his voice).


Laocoon: We are but a blade of grass

                In a vast, neglected field

                A grain of sand on a dead beach.


(He begins to sob silently).


Zarathus: You cry because you are insignificant.

              There are no warriors or saviours

              For the righteous now.

              Your tears are the only soldiers you have.


Laocoon: My skin is a Trojan horse.

               My soul speaks to me

               It desires the flight of freedom.

               I cannot deny my soul.


Zarathus: Is that why you are out here

              On this sacred cliff?


Laocoon: It is a cliff to you

               But a bridge to me, a gate

               The entrance to great finality.

               I shall leap open - eyed

              And only blink as I reach the rocks.


Zarathus: I gift you now

              With my witness and farewell.


(There is a quiet nod of acknowledgment between the men).


Laocoon: My will shall prevail.


(And with that Laocoon disappears over the edge. Zarathus indifferently continues his direction down the path).


Zarathus: The rocks do not deserve him.

◄ Biography of a Backward Man.

Accident on Tonight's Street. ►


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Jeff Dawson

Sat 19th Dec 2009 07:59

Hi Kealon, excellent great writing mate, you're right it could make nice poetry, but as a play I was immediately taken back in time to the struggles between peoples and their nations and the conflict of freedom and greed.

Very atmospheirc, I found myself reading it in the deep grand voices of noble warriors, could have been at the Octagon mate!

Marvellous lines throughout, and great use of English in both parts - could feel the complete feeling of being beaten in 'We are but a blade of grass, In a vast, neglected field, A grain of sand on a dead beach.'

Best wishes with the rest of it, not sure about performing, think I'll watch but if there's anything I can do to help let me know, Jeff

Rachel Bond

Thu 17th Dec 2009 09:04

this is great kealan...reminds me of euripedes which just has to be a compliment!
when youve written play bear me in mind for a part.
Also reminds me of my poem Siren there are some parallels.
'these men are eternal already
the wars they have waged
will live forever
and some of them
are friends with God.'
So well written have often thought about the nature of guilt regret and conscience. I was once shocked to note that one mans abhorance is another mans glee.
can read the Nietsche influence.
Excellent work.

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