Play-Write

There is this reoccurring
Dream that haunts my soul
Takes place upon a stage,
In auditoriums accreting the
Ambient matter of life arising
From a script, oratories that
Contravene my understanding
From too many re-writes –
Invariably I am always
Entering an empty house
(a dress rehearsal?)
From center stage right
As the Leko’s burn from the wings
Spraying cadmium oranges
Against manganese blues filtering
Gobos that play the light in fog
As if I am in a forest
And then the lights go out as
I face the empty seats and blindly,
Trustingly walk downstage
Toward an instinctive understanding
So that, in my waking hours
Of searching for grand meanings,
The black entity of those theaters
Swallow all my fears and self-doubt
And I embrace the serif of illusions
Like the blue, blue grosbeak
Awakening to Spring.

 
© K. James Ribble

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