A life I lead, to take a glance.
On a platform true, for all those that surround.
And the lead it is
With every line a gratuitous rehearsal.
Unknown as to why I have this role
It takes all energy to ‘be’.
It takes more to ignore it.
Either way I’m spent when curtain comes.
My sanguine friends that surface with lights,
Settle when alone.
No more shows,
A word of silence lands on a luckily carpeted floor.
If I pretend that all is good,
And keep the guise of ambiguity.
At night I still know the truth.
And it knows me and leaks from my proud eyes.
Honest boy by nature lets the truth leave stains close by.
Moved by a force I did not choose,
I render life in no effective way.
To charade for critics that are the world,
Is to create deadly poly-reality.
I juggle them in my mind,
And each time I risk its loss.
The strangers I call my friends,
Recite benign convictions.
Unwelcomed and resented,
I leave them outside for fear is large.
They bash my door, they scrape my roof,
And I know they mean to take no prisoners.
A weary being, they tie me to myself,
And tell me stories on recycled paper.
Something I fear was taken from me.
Incomplete I remain.
I vow to traffic no mistakes
To keep my future sane.
I fear my present compromise
Is a state that killed the better part of me.
I took a potion and finally
In am not half the being I used to be.
Nice, the world of recklessness would be
If it didn’t grate my spirit.
I run a distance but find it bothers me still.
And the irreversible verdict is thrown to the public.
Redemption?
For one who believes not what feels wrong?
A tide that ebbs and flows
And leaves attarax on the seabed.
As curtain touches stage.
The critics lay me down and
Take to me with knife and song.
I start to feel my age again.
To an ungrateful audience I pay no dues.
The frugal credits of a thespian are his secrecy.
The after party of a charade is sleep.
To the cast and crew.
Perhaps we should not eat of the fruit.
For I fear that we will live to see the day,
When our children speak our name in vain.
CAINE MCVEAN 2002
On a platform true, for all those that surround.
And the lead it is
With every line a gratuitous rehearsal.
Unknown as to why I have this role
It takes all energy to ‘be’.
It takes more to ignore it.
Either way I’m spent when curtain comes.
My sanguine friends that surface with lights,
Settle when alone.
No more shows,
A word of silence lands on a luckily carpeted floor.
If I pretend that all is good,
And keep the guise of ambiguity.
At night I still know the truth.
And it knows me and leaks from my proud eyes.
Honest boy by nature lets the truth leave stains close by.
Moved by a force I did not choose,
I render life in no effective way.
To charade for critics that are the world,
Is to create deadly poly-reality.
I juggle them in my mind,
And each time I risk its loss.
The strangers I call my friends,
Recite benign convictions.
Unwelcomed and resented,
I leave them outside for fear is large.
They bash my door, they scrape my roof,
And I know they mean to take no prisoners.
A weary being, they tie me to myself,
And tell me stories on recycled paper.
Something I fear was taken from me.
Incomplete I remain.
I vow to traffic no mistakes
To keep my future sane.
I fear my present compromise
Is a state that killed the better part of me.
I took a potion and finally
In am not half the being I used to be.
Nice, the world of recklessness would be
If it didn’t grate my spirit.
I run a distance but find it bothers me still.
And the irreversible verdict is thrown to the public.
Redemption?
For one who believes not what feels wrong?
A tide that ebbs and flows
And leaves attarax on the seabed.
As curtain touches stage.
The critics lay me down and
Take to me with knife and song.
I start to feel my age again.
To an ungrateful audience I pay no dues.
The frugal credits of a thespian are his secrecy.
The after party of a charade is sleep.
To the cast and crew.
Perhaps we should not eat of the fruit.
For I fear that we will live to see the day,
When our children speak our name in vain.
CAINE MCVEAN 2002
