Everlasting Motion



 A playhouse sits silently

In the midst of our gloomy town

Its vibrant colours and intricate patterns

Hidden beneath layers of dust and dirt

Memories forgotten that can easily be brought back with just some wind


And inside a wooden stage

That creaks with the lightest pressure

Surrounded by rows upon rows of seats

That were once filled to the brim with an audience

Now and forever abandoned by all except the spiders and forgotten reveries


Two players enter stage right

Their faces hidden behind masks

Though the curtain never opens

They perform their act flawlessly every night

An act of an impossible cycle of pretending and waiting for applause


Together they feign an act

Of a foreign concept called liberty

Their performance of life and death

Follows closely to the scripts of the past

Their dialogue enclosed within empty walls holds a tone of secrecy


Then she turns to him

And embraces the desertion of loneliness

As she’s held softly in his arms

Though it’s only an act and not meant to be enraptured in

His unheard lines imply a love that provides a comfort unlike any other


Their world, an unbreakable circuit

Their words, nothing but poetry and promises

Their movements, never tiresome, always impeccable

To the point where perfection is an expectation

Together forever in a deserted theatre, on an empty stage, but never alone


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