Metaphor Theater, Alan [best e reader for android txt] 📗

Metaphor Theater

Dedicated to Life’s Theater.

Performance conceived in desperate emotion, filled with immerging hopes of script success, yet realized.
Development of this life continues in spite the zealous choreographer, demanding perfection, expected.
Furls of waving curtains ready my entrance this stage of life. In demanding rehearsals, players anticipation
builds with each curtain call as my ovation announce in bursting clashes, Act 1.

Symphonic prelude ushers life’s simple form as staged expectation awaits eager complexity. Enter stage left,
a personality is born, arrayed with explosive bursts of brilliant pose, revealed in splendid ambition.
Emotions flare up as the curtain rises. This creature seems hesitant to reveal itself, a stage so abusive.
Survive final act it must, always speaking in good form, elevating human experience to obey every rule.

Doomed, critics say; harsh expressions coupled with intentional outbursts, knifing through this fragile flesh.
Dedicated passion, this troop endures fainting glares, demanding perfection, new and emerging.
Curtain ascends while anxious sigh flairs to face them, face them. Blank our life begins then expends to
please those glaring stares. In hopes to enjoy this façade I trust.

Trembling to emerge, be born, play the scene, prove my worth, act the part and please the crowd.
As first whimper blurts forth, splattering the audience with stunning array of grand entrance, behold
Act 1 no longer shrouded. Exposed am I to piercing eyes of expectation, with flushed face, streaming
slashes of terror fills my host, also with joy as I float through the moves in graceless innocence.


Dancing in eloquent practice, disowning all account. My partners lift me to heights wondrous in spirit-laden
costume, drinking this brew of harsh reality. Out of pretended experience, this act is endured. With each taxing
moment I continue to grow upon a lap of unexpected anxiety. I arrived too late to notice this day burst forth in
gaping ages as time fleets. They say time is on your side but this performance waits for no one.

Stand upright. Finish your development. Am I convinced to finish this growth to its painful completion?
In mature appearance these drops of ecstasy portray my stature-involved blessings. They revolve around and
around in perfect time. As my life’s story continues, it foretells graceful lashes as my life emerges with applause
in sounds of melodious sweet symphony. Orchestration of this existence portrays yearned for success.

Coming of age swirls in tempestuous flares of anger. Glaring endlessly, this giant wants to wean itself from
piercing criticism. A lifetime waits in glancing waves of hope, filled with pleasing applause. Acceptance with
every gesture, always evolving in experience, caressing this weary soul. Will I arrive on time? This emergence
strains every limb leaning over the edge of sanity, groping for every shadow of logic.

Acting as I will, ever imagining the conclusion-filled vase holding my bouquet of emotional ecstasy. Then the
horizon sifts through my hand of labor, while my heart beats in increasing numbers to supply an untold wasteland.
Struggling breath whispers fainting gestures then sliding aimlessly incasing fatal emersion into eternity.
Summit of my performance elevates beyond all hoped for levels, incased in preciousness surrounding the moment.

Confidence envelops me, drawing ever closer in style of appreciation from the challenge facing me in earnest
silence. Hard-pressed proliferation will strap the very vitality from every realm. This embryo relentlessly incases
my hearts fragile crystal. Climbing ever higher the summit in sight, slighted with sadness, claiming victims glowing
in radiant-bursts of deadly spires. This plain of life demands all senses be developed for the responsibility facing me.

Born out of me is one to cherish, to hold, and to love always. The essence of performing breeds fulfillment. Then when
costume withers and movements slow, this self ace from the far reaches of time. Fading intellect gleans every
experience available to such as I, for texture of this fragile crystal wanes, evermore, evermore. Cascading scene
after scene radiates beaming maturity which is always treasured in performance-dedicated completion.

No award will this player see while involved in self pity and concealing all ageing extremities, stretched.
Remember all that is treasured from back stage, adorned with streaks of shaded cravats placed on my face.
The image I saw was real and why now question real motive, for the performance is earnestly portrayed.
Only a hazy outline of once was eager expectation rounding the next corner sits on the edge of time.

Now the shadow extends washing torrents of tears into obscurity. Begging relief these thought s vanish.
Yes they vanish in the final act as it encloses descending gestures remembered only in wild memories,
fading now, marching relentlessly to snarl future exotic plans to recapture youths sparkling genesis.
My fellow players also are afraid to resign, to face the closing curtain, anticipating fames light extinguished.

Disaster awaits young ones in a casting call, to follow us in spirited zeal. Each hopefully to aspire great heights.
What awaits them is no mystery to those who arrive at this final act in their life’s triumphs.
The audience has received all we can give, willingly forfeiting time and effort, treasured so dearly.
We hope some remember our efforts in this short life on stage, laughing, holding, touching, cherishing.

Have they enjoyed our play of extreme labor?
With hearts as sweet wine enjoyed.
Final scene and the curtain pauses.
Lights dim in closing fame.
Players decline now.
Bows repeat often.
To all a farewell.
See now the finish.
As slowly my Alan Martin 2002
curtain
closes.

Publication Date: 12-16-2009

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