Trigger word supplied by my third sprog tonight: Curtains.
Sir Walter Raleigh’s poem called What is Life. The curtains close at our demise. The end. What is left once the curtains are drawn. Secrets and lies lurking in the folds, clutching at the seams and dragging their little scrawny legs as the curtains shift in the breeze of life. Hidden depths behind those crimson peepers, opening and closing like eyes blinking. A snapshot of the show, then it’s gone. What do we play behind the security of a closed stage? That moment of safety when we can become who we really are, without inhibition, because we know that it remains a secret. Exposure is a bright light pinning us to the spot, music shaping the mood and the air hinting at emotions. Heat and sweat for fear; coolness and a soothing breeze for calm. Waffle and bull goes on. I still prefer the poem.