Parts 1-3

Time to ditch the almost,

confirm the constant.

You’re alone and your life becomes

an act in three parts.

First the curtain drops

killing the lead. How the play continues

is nothing short of a miracle.

Props are the key, and wires and string.

They string you up and out

make your stage death something to write about.

   

Part two wasn’t too horrific,

it was mostly a war.

Them against you,

in a kind of trench warfare.

You had no gun, no armor.

Instead you started to write

a peace treaty.

The receiver yourself.

You continue to write

a sort of agreement.

To end the fighting, to seize the moment,

You sign it sincerely,

best of luck.

Because the war isn’t truly over

if one side just gives up.

Act three ties up any loose ends,

smoothing jagged metal, making it bend.

The setting is dark, except for a dim light,

it crawls along the floor, it smolders on your face.

The cast, she takes her place.

Alone but not afraid, radiating

the peace she has made.

The light appearing to come from within,

content in her chair, with purpose again.

Alone never more, as the curtain drops to the floor.