Wedding Of Midnight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They held all of their flowers in their
Make-believe wedding of midnight,
But it was just a funeral,
Like looking at my face before the
Graveyard:
What could be more beautiful, Except
For a movie theatre after closing time—
And all of the amusements that
Ate themselves—
So, I suppose I can all her, if I knew
A few more words,
And the bard kept wondering while
The griot ate the stars:
But we've already taken a few too
Many steps,
Up the contraptions of the marionettes—
And I suppose that we've come too far
To figure out what it really takes to
Save ourselves, with the lights coming
Home over the waves—
None of this will sell, and all is for nothing,
But at least we can pretend to remember
That there is no one else to save.