A Global Theater
isn’t in dying.
Is it in our boldness
of living life’s theater in regret?
False words said about the dead,
while on our side of the grave.
A lovers kiss.
A setting sun.
A comforting shoulder.
Why do we keep secret
these joyous things?
Why is the coin more valuable than
the items it acquires?
Can you truly sell your soul?
Actors admit they’re people.
People deny they’re actors.
We did sell our soul
and we’re happy to be slaves
About the author:
I like to say I’m 21 with 37 years of experience. A BS in Education-History and an MS in Operations Management. Writing for about five years though poetry for the last three.
I live outside of Rochester, New York and currently support my writing by working as a supervisor for a manufacturing company.
Married with three children and a dog that that was there one day when I got home.
I enjoy reading/writing Science fiction, fantasy and Alternate/Historical fiction. My introduction to poetry was to enter a poetry contest on another site(Now closed) as poetry can help expand my writing. I’ve listened to Ginsburg and Kerouac on YouTube.