Shadow Dance Poem by Chloe Lubinska

A stage, dear stage
how I emphasise you on diminutive plinths and icy depths
The halo of crisp golden tongue
Rotated too much for matters gone wrong
The ravish prick of a chilling stare
was one enough for me not to be there?
Diminished in present, a consecutive glare
brought famine among gathered in knelling symphony
They walk across oceans, and they fly across lands
looking down they see
harmonies and happiness they thought ought to be
although this crowd cannot sacrifice their souls
looming phenomenon with their accounted arms
a bored head consisting a farm
of broken limbs and broken hearts, a burgundy theorem
weeping its sorrowful fluids- draining chance, forgetting hope
It would rather see faith slumber and shadows verve and slope
into a bottomless barren pit consisting of vacant dreams
where the quarrel's eye lies, ethereal and keen

On this stage we're centre light
engrossing firm affair that confidence forges fright
unknown consciences shouting
'You are a tower, dominant and lean, fear them not; you're worth the scene.'
If only I could believe them, enhance their trusting romance
however naught could shake the feeling, they too like performance
feigning foreign symbols, we're obliged to conceive
a private abortion of forged promises confronts us if we cease to proceed
with the wretched ways which we perceive
as noting but what it used to be
that's the way life is I guess, a series of directors cut
a film gone awry and scratched
like a transparent glass clear and obedient, until it cracked
under pressure? Doubt threats
I see civilised offspring newly hatched
echoing remembrance of a plummeting newborn
entwining unknown reptiles, touching ahead
the unfortunate consequence they ended up dead

When can I see this is not a stage? Just a hoax, a deception
When can I see the luminosity emulate like a mirror
to the covert audience, framing their size- an outspoken raptor
When can we be on the other side of this show?
Speaking up distraughts a realm making it glow
We're adopted fireflies, bearing an entertainment of sorts
puppets for deceit, wearing old, annoying but making falsified resorts
When can we be an audience? Assuming they know how it's done
for once, I want to see the star light, when the sky drops the sun