A stage for unspoken fear


For a while, the fear comes with the anger of shame. 

Meanwhile, the stage stays lit,
capturing clouds on sunny days. 

Kindness distorts the sound of a flare,
while the stage spits on the fever of humiliation, 

probing fragility endlessly,
preying on spoken desperation. 

The lost seek proof of life
by creating incidents publicly,

casting them as scapegoats, 
craving the small remnant of pity 

left inside our grief.

Somehow, it has to come to an end,
in the sound of frigid wind,
and merciless rain,

to cease the calculations of 
mislearned morality 
and a miswritten conscience.

An end is an end;
it no longer permits rumination 

on passing time.

The end is forever, 
after the long trembling, 

on tempting terms.