Players

Who is she really?
An eternal question,
This constant query
Incites a thoughtful dissension.
Upright and still
Watching the scenery roll by,
From her view on the hill
She is met with the whys
And the wherefores
Of this improbable scene,
Of who she is now and
Of who she has been.
A play without end!
A bizarre journey of skits!
An artificial blend!
Pieces that don't fit!

If each of us act within
Drama, of our own making,
Where are those people living?
Who exist without faking
Their lives, their days,
Their thoughts and their dreams,
They exist in a shadow-world
Where nothing is as it seems
To us, who play,
Who perform the illusion
That appears to be real
But, is mere self-delusion.

She looks down once more
And observes each scene,
Hears the distant score
And the players between
As they speak the lines,
Clich?s aptly chosen,
Patented designs
Keeping the artifice in motion.
Descending, to play her part,
A fraudulent role,
She dismisses her heart
And sacrifices her soul.