Fin

He looked as if he would shatter,

Into a million tiny pieces of crystal at the 

slightest touch.  He was defeated.

He was worn out, exhausted and finished with 

the continued monotony.

He couldn't remember anything in the past

month; Where he had gone, who he had met.  

On the edges of his eyes, the flood was

beginning.  It would soon drown an unresolved

pain, a decade of silent suffering, perhaps the 

longest running performance of any kind

of any time.  

In his head, the beat picks up to the light

whistle of medieval rhythms and sounds.

The curtain has closed and the actor is 

laid naked before the world - his script, his 

action, revealed to be a farce to express jovial

thought and notion but hiding despair 

that he let destroy him for half a score.