legends and lies

The other man
The other woman
And the third
In the third act
We seem to have so much
So much in common
So much we lost
What we once were
All in all we are left with
Is a roomful of lies
We try not to visit
Yet we peek on tiptoe
Longingly through the keyhole
Oh if only
Just a little of it
Had been true

Maybe I remember this box
I had put under the bed
To catch all the memories
Swollen souvenirs of when
Words were once whispered
Into the porches of my ear
Thinking that they would be lost
As I slept and slipped
Beneath pillows
Smothered and ossified
As the fading flowers
In an old wedding bouquet.
She never threw it
So no one caught it
Yet she gave it all away

Sometimes the bottle calls
With its plaintiff cry
Of nickel and dime redemption
Some little sense
On the dolor we get back
A spirit to move
On to something else
Back to where we false started
A different square one to block
All those exs and os
White lies painted in thick pastiche
Cover to cover and back again
Short-sheeted liquid paper torn
Scar trail maps of invisible ink
Lead the inevitable wayward way
Orpheus ongoing as an Argonaught
Has no sense of Bacchae awaiting song.
If Agamemnon only knew of Aegisthus
Lying and leaning against the door
Would he sail home all the same?
Or call me Cassandra, who could see it all
But know how made no never mind anyhow.

Now I know I know I knew
I did and did and do
And did it just the same
Playing my lines as best I could
The me being the me I am
I thought maybe just maybe
I could turn tragedy to comedy
As easy as turning wood to gold
Aren’t I always the one
Who makes the show go on?
And when the curtain goes down
The audience goes home
With a smile on their face
And a song in their heart
So why not me?
Is there any anymore?
An act of god or mercy in act four.
Carpe deius ex machina,
But at least I have learned
Not to look back this time.