The End Approaches, My Dear!

This is my first attempt at a serious poem and I felt I must explore the theatre and its ghosts.

The sound dies...

The cheers stop...

The finish of the cries...

The curtains chop...


The Theatre, my dear, is a poisoned chalice

Created for profit and sodomised malice

The intentions meant are an entire mess

Nothing more, nothing less


The Theatre, my dear, is full of characters

Brecht, Artaud and Shakespearean actors

Those wonderful chaps whom give us the pleasure

From Hamlet, Macbeth to Measure for Measure


The lights fade...

The audience gone...

The staff paid...

'Over is the con...


One dried-up Actor remains and makes His entrance

His eyes are glazed, fixed and old

A booming voice lifts up the room

Richard the Third's soliloquy booms


"Since I cannot prove a lover, I am determin'd to prove a villian"


The End approaches, my dear.

The last Curtain Call...

The End

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