Sonnet 163, The Stage Poem by Peter S. Quinn

We have tried to find a way, out of here,
But there are no other places around;
We can not seek what is not to be found,
For each step backward is still very near.
Sometimes the past is not gone anywhere,
We lose in life senses and sometimes ground;
And stand in such discoveries astound,
To be in the same steps as mad king Lear.
But fear not for entire world is the same,
It gives you of both what is right and wrong,
And praise you even though you deserve none.
For all in here is like a stage or game,
Or a story that goes on all day long,
Until our sense of what is what, is gone.