I wrote the first draft of this poem about 10 years ago. I’ll revise it again.
THEATRE
In the theatre, the dark actors
become conscious of being
in consciousness, of belonging
to mighty fate unseeing.
Bewildered by the dancing
shadow puppets on the wall,
they scream at mimicked life so cast
helplessly enthralled.
Maya projects illusions, weaves
webs and threads her veils on veils
under the dome of their skull’s vast vaults
they’ve been born to fail.
Peter Walks for Democracy 