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If only the world was a stage
And we, merely players, then
We could easily rewrite the present.
But we are not actors on a stage
And the true cosmic conglomeration
Is reality, and the only true exit
Is the numerous ones of ole death.
And though not proud, its popularity
Has become an overwhelming entity,
And all entrances are tested.
There are no comedies of errors in reality;
All that is, is a reality that is, what it is.
There are no praised Romeos and Juliette
Tragedies; there is no sanity in applauding
Starving children and those murdered
And hanging from room-doors of insanity
And wars fought for Trojan Horse-like fantasies.
No longer can Slaver and the Holocaust
Be as if mere footnotes at the bottom end
Of the chosen pages of inked history; for in
The fatal shadows of these realities lay the truth
Unveiled for all eyes to see and perceive.
The man in the moon led to a billion-dollar fantasy;
But should billions starving on earth remain a reality?
Let not our wise saws to be dead staged mementoes;
Let us rather, ensure that they become lived realities.
God is not a bard; He’s the Creator of all seen and unseen.
And the world is not a stage, but the essence of His Being.
