Facades for the Greater Good
Author’s Note: This is an excerpt from a play I never finished. It is a conversation between two key players who had to role play in order to deceive.
Ay Lesa I hoped I’d do you justice
My dramatics were subtle like a rose
Not such soft roses touched by unclean hands.
Tender like pups and steamy as the sand
My portrait of you as a whore I chose
I apologize for this injustice.
I am a bit overwhelmed these moments
They pass so slow in-between as if frozen
Icicles to the hands impure and filthy
My caress over them grows weary soon
I am but putty to these lands of menace
And puddles of sad tears inside penance
Intense are these moments yet opportune
If I’m not giddy, must I be guilty
Tis hand written, thus art in the shadows
‘twas a friendly way, but persistence shallows.-
-Tween the ovoid, melancholy rain drops
I amble in and out of teary eyes
a romantic nomad under brushwood.
I never guessed on how a tawdry should
Present itself within a blushed disguise
But nonetheless I put you on the top
A harlot’s mask to further guise a lady
And play a potion’s wish of malady.
A mere wisp of a girl no more I claim
My voice hoven out a much paler mauve
I skulk in and out of my character
to tempt the lines drawn up by barristers
My fingertips hint of prim and proper salve
Existence is so much more than a name.
My tragedy birth me a war room bed set,
where old photographs lest not let me forget.
A tortoise shell I draw myself to look
Protection from her torrid elements
pent aggression manifests with ease to place
tell my sorrows upon my wrinkled face
my squinting eyes hide and keep my skeletons
I am the queen yes but I need a rook
Sacrifice my ire for a graceful mantle
Where I keep my soul away from phantoms
But my war is for the red king’s sunsets
My treasure awaits me upon the stars
Am I remembered for things I did not do
Or immortalized for evil in the truth
My hand was played too well to receive scars
My father told me I paid my soldiers debt
My christening was blessed by holy water
the cleft upon my brow, my crown and altar.
Cedrick you tempt my rectitude brother
And guffaw at my pristine register
Yet follow around my pallor visage
Like a guideline written in a missive
But brother do not tempt the messenger
your reprieve shall be shown today at supper
the dinner bell rings, echoes about the shore
a succulent slice of life not to ignore.