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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