Maria

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.

-reciting-
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.

y'know?.