Shadow-like, you hover at the edge of all things
Opportunities slip through your weary grasp, over and over
Repentance sticks in your throat, all things hard to swallow now.
Rehearsals fill your mind, for a performance unlikely to have an opening night
You search in vain for an understudy to take your mark.
I sit alone, front and centre, programme clutched to my heart
Shadow-like, I hover at the edge of all things.
Tomorrow would be better, awaiting some conjunction;
Heart, soul and mind must be in perfect alignment.
Echoes ebb at the shore, each tide eroding you.
Happiness is a game without rules to guide the players
Assembled in confusion, fate hanging on each roll of the dice
Repentance sticks in my throat, all things hard to swallow now.
Depression of all emotion becomes a black mask to fit any size
Emptiness, a chasm spectators fear to tread nearby.
Shadow-like, we hover at the edge of all things
Turbulence spews with each stone hurled into still waters.
Waiting for the heartfelt submission of the script our tears have drafted,
Opportunities slip through my weary grasp, over and over.
Repentance sticks in our throats, all things hard to swallow now.
Dusty curtains silently await this opening act.
Sorry is the hardest word.
(c) Caren Gilbert