Support Poem by john wake

Existence
Do you, I, they exist.
Is this gods game,
A play, poorly written,
The production cheap.

The stage curtains slowly stroll on their rails,
As the audience is introduced to its new attention,
But can he act? Sing? or dance?
Even entertain.
Can you?

But god is in life,
He Apollo, she Daphne.

Reflecting, pondering, dreaming.
Dialects, diction and dictation
All strategies to woo them in.

Glands, guts, gods
Sensations, satisfaction, serenities
All indicators, information, that you are here.

Alas! perfection is god
Thus only he has no error
Only he the perfect actor.
The rest only support his role.

But as the lights, linear rows, rein on his eyes
His heart hazed
All a blaze.

Sensations sink as anchors on sea beds,
Here to stay,
The past a stray
only the stage
This age.

Purpose pulled
As the beams, ballooning eyes following,
Shine on the alpha on stage,
In the shadows, without a word,
As the eyes depart, Daphne too
Looks away.

Slowly, slowly
It sinks, it sinks
Life leaving with the light,
She ran though:
Hips, heart, heads, beds, last breaths
And you breath
Your breast
Fight like a mad beast
Clawing,
crawling.

But she’s gone
With their eyes.
Only mine
Till nine
Then they, her too, retreat
To the omega on stage.

The cast kept,
Deep in the back
Peeping through the black
As he ends the play.