A Front Row Seat

Overture

Everything is the same, yet completely different.

The day spins, repeating its circle without defense.

I sit at the edge of the stage—assigned A5.

Aurally and visually stunning, I am moved.

No one replies.

Act I

Balancing not to fall remains a myth.

The harder you push, the more it slips.

The sun ascends.

The sun descends.

Birdsong stirs the veil.

The art of existence

Is to unfocus and exhale.

Act II

Love and longing—can we see they contradict?

Are they aligned, or do they dissolve

When we mix?

Definition remains perception from your seat.

The roles we play in this theatre

Are the lines we read.

Act II

Truth or lies:

Which do we choose?

Truth cuts.

Lies comfort, keeping us soothed.

As children, we rehearsed virtues,

Memorizing each final touch.

As adults, survival bends goodness

Into the illusion we clutch.

Epilogue

The same shows.

The same acts.

The same theatre.

Among foreign crowds,

As we trust,

As we presume,

That our tickets await

For the next bows.