In that fashion, not quite unknown to me, yet like a foreign language a burden on my tongue, I shall try to write this bit of poetry.
It is as if the ancient Greeks have dressed me with false masks of emotions
I stand before the stage about to appear
trembling in the anticipation of the tragedy before me.
An act! A farce!
The falsity of silence behind the curtain.
Yet I can feel the emotions newly starting behind closed eyes.
Behold the Heroin! Bright shining star!
Behold her now
Through trembling lips I give the confession
a condemnation of reality
Priestess! Now pauper
Silence greets me
a haunting reminder of the truth.
