Act X

Scene I


The sun considers whether or not to round up another hour,
or just bow to the persistence of the dismal mist 
spurred on by low hanging clouds painted a dull shade of grey,
that pretends it is powerful enough to scuttle big plans 
and drown even bigger sorrows

In the end, old Sol bows out with a wry smile and a wink,
letting the rain believe it has won, while in reality the sun, 
having simply tired of the cat-and-mouse play,
wanders off into the west knowing full well a little water
can never spoil this day

O, let it wet the wings of birds that swoop beneath the clouds
to rest among the concrete and lights;
let it trickle like tears — they will not stain,
for in the blink of an eye the forgotten will be powerless
against the beat of hearts in harmony 

The sun sets beyond the western skyline


Scene II

The evening breeze wends its way between towers and trees
while bright lights dance to the music of the night, calling
to all who pass this way, with promises and propositions,
illuminating the path of lovers who stroll beneath these columns  
on the leeward side of midnight

The city slinks into the background like a river, tamed, 
fading into stillness at the mouth of the delta 
where hearts soothed, but not sated, rise above the earth
to touch the sky and come to rest upon a bed of clouds 
bathed in the kiss of passion

And the cock prepares to crow the count of twelve
to the melody of whispered breaths and night’s caress
floating into the darkness where night wraps a hand
around souls entwined in the soft glow of heaven
on the edge of the sea

The lights go out


Scene III

Daybreak drifts across the stage, lingering on sleeping faces,
lifting lovers from their slumber with gentle kisses
painting the day in a new light beneath a refreshed sky, 
feeding the hunger left by the restless night;
and dressing love in a new fabric 

Like driftwood afloat without a care upon an underground stream 
finding land on the northern side of a summer hill 
this southern spring, on the windward side of noon, 
minutes woven into memories with every touch of hand in hand,  
slowly glide into hours

And lo, the sun is beckoned to follow its westward path,
as history replays itself in the light of day
bathed in kisses and wrapped in love’s embrace, 
then laid to rest for one last renaissance,  
before the final test

Bells chime, announcing:  it is time!


Scene IV

A traveller faces the test of time, locked in a silent room
from whence, at last, release is won with victory achieved,
and with a heavy weight now lifted, the train rolls downhill
to a path forever young and never empty
that leads toward the lake

and there, beside the beaten path, within a hall all draped with red
where lights and shadows dance in harmony
a singer sings of ribbons and clouds and blackberry wine  
in a voice that drifts up to the rafters to wrap hearts
in Beautiful

And when the early morning rain is still, and the music falls silent, 
and the multitudes have drifted on their way into the night, 
the city has changed its skin, its lifeblood flowing in coloured lights
that beckon to the tempted and cast shadows on beggars and lovers alike 
as the traveller returns

The sound of hearts beating can be heard in the night


Scene V

Midnight casts a softened glow upon sleeping faces 
laying wrapped in a bed of contentment, 
where cares and woes are cast aside and dreams linger 
yet a few hours more, though soon the sweetest kisses
will coax the morn awake

Heat rises, stoked by a craftsman's fingers, licked by the waves
that build a fervent flame within the embodiment of Love,
responding to the surge that swells in hidden depths,
undulating, as if to ebb and flow as tides attuned
to the departing moon

But time does not reside within a bottle, corked and saved for all eternity 
its exodus unheeded, and morning will no longer feign at being night.
Alas the wind blows ever northward and the piper must be paid,
and reluctantly the wanderers emerge from the depths into the sun 
at the beginning of the end

Silence


Scene VI

Wandering the boulevards and freeways as if paying no attention 
to the sun might make it cease its journey across the sky, 
all the while knowing full well there is no stopping time,
the mood hangs thick, awaiting the clock to strike the hour 
that the executioner's axe will fall

Like Alice through the looking glass peering into pictures on the wall
while columbines and bluebells sit in silent watch, marking a path 
walked with a mixture of contentment and foreboding,
the end of the road draws nearer, riding against the flow,
gliding downhill while standing still

A door opens at the end of the line and Alice must step out of the dream,
swallowed up by the crowd and lost in a sea of faces, 
glancing back for one last glimpse of heaven — but it is gone,
and the great white bird spreads its wings to fly
but a heart is left behind

Exit stage right as the curtain falls



Janet Reid
may 2008




Awarded by Poetic Constellations