A Play Toward

One player toward...


One player forlorn...


One player toward.....toward an audience that plays its own.


"To those who wander in the night

And oft beguile those fiendish sprite

Take heed to foolish, wandering knaves

Of the mind do wont they stay.

I've oft observed from time to time

That men do carelessly stroke the chime

Of the gates that hold all glory above.

Do they ever find their love?

I'd invite thee to stay awhile

And see if you'd beguile

The one on whose eyne you look to most

If ere you saw thee rather cry than boast.

For surely it is plain to see

That love doth injure thee.

I'll ask out myself once again,

Do you see what kills me my friend?"

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Edited 01-27-01

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