A Production of the Paragons.

A free verse poem, Tony Malzone

Tell me what you know about waking up to the sky, asking why, when your smile is shy. You’ve got everything you could ever want. How could you ever cry? The truth of the matter is that it never even did. The voice you heard, the smile you hid. Something about the stars, so far off the grid. The gridlock amid and this place forbid. I often wonder, what puts me under, is it in my own head or another terrible blunder? I guess I’ll never know, and to be honest, I’m not mad, I’d rather put on a show. I’ll make a crowd laugh, I’ll be the star, you know. But when the curtain comes down, and the light is low. The person I am, that, they’ll never know. It’s odd to think that that’s just the way it goes. We move up and move on, just strike another pose. We’re all just entertainers, it’s not really what we chose. A production of the paragons, a life of endless shows.