Thursday, 10 June 2010


Maria sat on that old wooden chair.
Faint smile on her pale face.
The sun trickling through the cracked and broken skylight, warming
the stage.
Maria had died on a Tuesday, not long after two fifty two,
She haunted these boards on each Wednesday,
she sat center stage in plain view.
Maria had sung quite badly in life, and in death,
not much had improved
People who lived near the venue, had grown accustomed to it
or had moved.

She sat there on this day, the mid of the week,
She sat and she hummed and the floorboards they creaked
Alone where she sat, just there
center stage,
surrounded by lights, this, her nec-rot-icular cage

She hummed and she smiled and she pleasantly waited
Until evening came and the moon rose and plated
the drapes of the stage with a platinum glow
and the ripples of fake plastic water below

When midnight arrived she stood with closed eyes
she stood and started to melodize
the song she had sung when her life had diminished
she continued on ... but again never finished

When she started to sing a particular tone
the boards and the bars shook and rattled like bone
the chair she up stood on, it rocked and it jiggled
as her tone broke and crimpled
the chair bowed and wiggled
She fell once again
She fell like she had
She fell to her death
Death in death's not so bad.

It doesn't hurt and it doesn't ache
It simply compounds the down turns life takes

It doesn't do much else except stop the show
It serves to remind her what you and I know
That life is a temporal, treasurey thing
That standing on chairs when you can't even sing
is not exactly the best way to go, but better to
pass doing what you love and on show
it was good for Maria to recede life mid flow
and not to grow old and grow bitter.

1 comment:

Mick said...

27 thumbs up... and five big toes

hamstropolis prisoner

by aBowman