A Thespian’s tears
Can last so long.
Even though they could see it coming,
That could not stop the shock.

An enemy;
A rival.
Their hearts are filled with an envy,
That could soon ensnare their souls.

They did their best.
That’s what counts, right?
But then,
Why do they feel as though they’ve lost so much?

Pride is an essence of people,
And when it’s within the hearts of many,
Yet not reaching an ego,
It can be damaged just as quickly.

Tears of the Thespian,
Rain in numbers,
To try and mend the hearts,
Of their fellow players.

After putting up their time,
Like a sacrifice to the gods,
It was a trio of serpents,
That called the final blow.

The tears of a single Thespian,
Still fall to the page as the Muses try their best to help,
But all that comes out,
Is a poem of a day so long ago.

.:Back to Poetry:.