The Player In The Play

In a corner he waits,
Mouldering amidst the strangers,
In a wanderers land where
Bones could never rest.
Quiet, hidden, home once
Beckoned, a headstone,
Mired in the bog, handsome
And stately, like the terrible
Flame that burnt in the mind.
Eyeholes, mouthhole, ears that
Cannot hear the rattling of
Moments, quiet shades and
Shadows moving restlessly
In the darkness. What do you
Want of us? The words slide off
Of fleshless grins, empty muck,
Cavernous thoughts. The shaking
Begins, an endless awakening.
Like a nightmare one cannot be
Roused from. Abandoned glory,
A whores remembrance, a vanity
That casts a jaded glance on yesterday.
Fool, did you think it would be that
Easy to be the player in the play?
Daylight creeps into the corner,
Where he will always wait.

Text created by Susan Isabella Sheehan
“Art Is The Perception Of An Altered Reality©”
Copyright 2008 Surreal Digital Artist™

The Player In The Play

Susan Isabella  Sheehan

SANTA CLARA, United States

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Artist's Description

Thoughts In My Everflowing Stream Of Consciousness…..

Artwork Comments

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