Grief has taken such possession, that sorrow is no longer opaque.

Our lives built on lies, slander, farces.

We play the lives of characters we do not want to in order to please our foes.

A dress rehearsal that constantly goes wrong.

Scripted lines with spelling errors.

Scowls disguised as smiles.

Life lost in such a play that reality is obscured.

Such playwrights as we win no oscars, for the audience jeers at our backbiting.

We surrender not to the truth; its verity tortures us and puts others to shame.

At backstage our tongues churn out gossip and

create scandals like no other.

On stage our enemies appear to be blood-ties contaminated with cyanide.

When the curtain falls, we realize that our lives have not been lived.

Our character has died, and we are left untouched.