He is the only free agent actor;
All others just playing a part.
They look at him when news is given
Of another’s eventual departure:
Their eyes say,
“Have you forgotten your lines?”
The energy vibe he gets says,
“You jerk; just because you’re free,
Don’t ruin it for the rest of us!”
But no one gave him a script,
And some actions were expressly forbidden
Twelve moons ago; around the time
He was socially blocked.
And so he remains: blocked, forbidden;
No conversation as they go,
Signals not much different than before.
Hamlet-like, he utters a soliloquy:
“To stay, or not to stay,
To speak, or not to speak.”
He tries to stay this side of madness,
And allow Ophelia an escape,
Perchance to France with Laertes,
If her only other option is to climb a tree.
But he’ll not say, “Get thee to a nunnery,”
And he’d rather not boast of love
Greater than 40,000 brothers:
Philos is not eros, and it’s a rather grave boast.
Copyright© 2015 H.K. Longmore