For me, the smell of a theatre still intoxicates me.
There is nothing more sublime than being the last one out at the end of the night, and catching that furtive glimpse of the lone ghost light—bravely peering his way into the darkness and keeping vigil over our stage as if it were the very ramparts of Elsinore.
And indeed, sometimes it is…
As surely as the tide will come
We know it cannot stay
Steadfast faith the sun will rise
We know it’s just the day.
The willow cannot help but weep
When winter drives with scorn
But even willow takes a pause
When spring again is born.
So when the tide had come and gone
The sun arose and fell
The willow tree had lost its buds
Were we to do as well?
But with the morning comes the tide
To wash away our tears.
The sun will rise to dry our cheeks
And take away our fears.
Rome fell for falling
A victim of conceit
If we won’t rise to mend our ways
At last our ends will meet.
The fall of Rome passed us by
Although we share its fruit
We take no heed in what was lost
Or what we gained in loot.
For now, the Empire’s come and gone
The ruins left to roam
Descend upon this tourist spot
And then return back home.
Are we to see ourselves in them?
A culture far from us
They lived – they breathed – they die no more
Returned back to the dust.
If there’s a lesson in Rome’s fall
America’s Exception –
Is liberty and freedom
And have been from inception.
Those we brought from far away
Wear masks that grin and lie
They have to keep their faces hid
Or happy pain belies.
Meanwhile those that die by day
Weren’t killed by masked assailants
They died from fighting selfish neighbors
Who boasted breath free from ailments.
Rome fell for failing to stand
Just as we will fall ourselves
If we can’t come together now
They’ll read our demise from shelves.
A house divided cannot stand
A nation is no stronger
If we don’t rise to mend our ways
We won’t be here much longer.
amuseofire 