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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #2257484
Reality and Other Impossibilities
In fairy tales it's all so very ordered.
One starts, and always at the beginning,
the events,
(which then unfold in admirable linear conformity),
though clearly unique in strictly temporal terms,
are often repeated, reliably or perhaps
embellished, (on licence of course),
leading past trial, temptation and,
to inevitable triumph.
The happiness of the ending being a certainty
and in no way negotiable.

Characters are fixed,
their motives, actions and mishaps are
comforting and predictable,
their interactions untroubled by chance or season.

Contrast this then, with our own lot
narratives that meander,
commencing in no clear manner and
sometimes supplying no clear conclusion at all

Capricious companions,
playing their own fields, may
trip, tackle or taunt,
or else
aid, advance or admire us
as whim dictates.

Bit players, who refuse to slot into
the carefully prepared plot
devised for them
prefer to play the lead in some wholly
other production of their own direction.

Our own actions are just as frequently
governed by obscure impulses
and bursts of inexplicable irrationality.

Plots unravel
tangling with the loose lines
of flesh, familiar, friendly or fought.
Flap, wave, merge and interweave,
sorrow, celebrate, lie, treasure, chase and dance.

Each earnestly , nay intensely, intent on their own words.
Hero or heroine, always center stage,
all else is shadows and scenery.

Time worn,
time ravaged,
The familiar needs, desires,
divine and destructive,
mundane and marvellous,
straddle centuries

Who yearns, burns, cannot live without.
Something, someone, some times it scarcely matters.
Crave, covert, conspiring
capable of any crime in their all consuming pursuit.

Who cannot live with themselves,
assuaging their self loathing
cruelly on those who's proximity and kinship
are unquestioned and unconsidered
never once looking in the dark mirror.

Who strives, struggles, diligent and indefatigable
pursuing some pure dream
some perfect vision, grail goal.
Painfully accruing many hours of practice
till praise falls, laurel upon them
and the ease of their accomplishment
is plain for all to see.

Behind these eyes
a composition can change
enacted a thousandfold
dialogue, dissected, tested, tasted

I shall say this...
... and then they shall respond

Visualised, varied
encumbered with expectations,
hashed and rehashed
exaggerated and extravagant
every fear realised and revelled in
each pleasure fulfilled and despaired of

and then I should have said...
... if only she had told me this
Placing words in her mouth.

Teller of tales
yet partakes personally of the pageant
the masked ball
painted faces personify so many roles to fulfil.

Thalia laughing at life's absurdities,
head thrown back in some great guffaw
mirth not misery.

Melpomene, garbed in grey anguish,
witness to the pain
the universal indifference to
those who suffer
but don't deserve to.

gaudy, casually ultraviolent and crass
breaking his rod on every back
self centered, selfish and
seemingly incapable of any empathy.
Steals, strikes and stumbles
ignorant and indifferent
from sofa, to squat, to cell.

Else jaunty, jolly Judy
generous with her time and attention
lavishing love and largesse on those she loves
caring more for companions than cash
cherish each child
believing in the blood
ties that defy the tides of fickle friendship.

Play to type
play to archetype
and ape the actress
as she places words in your mouth
stolen strands of storyline,
stray through to some semblance of reality
each seeking:
acceptance, (You're one of us now dear heart);
belonging, (Conformity is comfort!);
esteem, (Speech! Speech!);
solace, (A peace from the action);
forgiveness, (Your pardon please);
freedom, (Freedom!, Freedom!),
A far from simple concept.

Speak slowly
less you lose them
to lend gravitas, an illusion of learning,
Each sentence condemns them to life.
Your life.
Subtly augmented,
bold embellishment, (show your story skills sir),
to display your best side.
Brag a little, swagger maybe,
impress surely.
Battles fought bravely
... really, it was nothing at all.
Princes rescued
... well I could hardly leave him there, poor thing.
Kingdoms, halved and won
... Would you like to come up and see my etchings?

Speak softly
less they hear you
confess the little sins
hushed tones of parsimonious penance
skip lightly over the bits best forgotten,
the petty nastiness
some slight
intentional or accidental, it's of no matter.
How pleasant to sneer at one's inferiors
don't you think!
Everybody does it, and
you wouldn't want to stand out would you?
Makes folks uncomfortable,
that sort of thing.

and this last is perhaps the most important
speak, in kind
echo your actress
take each word from her lips
betray no learning, no superior knowledge
unless, of course, to impress and undress.
Belong in tongue to the tribe.
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