Actors, All

I’ve seen so many plays, it’s true

And lived so many more

Heed what I have to say to you

Hear what you have in store
In every play there is a cast

A motley crew of men

And from the first until the last

You should know of them
They come in different forms, it’s true

But their shapes, all the same

Some should be familiar to you

And some of unknown name 
Firstly there’s the hero, you

Who only means the best

They stand out from the others too

They’re different from the rest
They can be short, they can be tall

They can be slim or round

They can be smart, or not at all

Average or profound 
But most of all their heart is gold 

Although they may not show it

A good person, deep down, all told

Let’s hope that they don’t blow it
For they have their own faults and flaws

Which drags them ever down

Will they succumb to evil’s claws? 

Or carry virtue’s crown?
Beside them is their closest friend

(Or perhaps there’s none at all)

The one who’s with them till the end 

(Or orchestrates their fall)
Then on rides the High Horseman

His nose high in the air

The role he’ll serve our hero, then?

Someone whom to compare
Our hero must be clearly better

In some amorphous way

The Horseman’s script, down to the letter

To cause him much dismay
He’ll turn his back and curse their name

He’ll kick sand in their eyes

He’ll take the credit, pass the blame

And ruin our hero’s life
But in the end, he will be beaten

He’ll win battles, not the war

And in the end, the loathsome cretin

Is shown the backstage door
There must be romance, this is fact

Mutual or unrequited

I wish you all the luck with that

Against all odds you’re pitted
The Teacher is a crucial role

Moulder of hero’s clay

He’ll set our hero towards their goal

And send them on their way 
There’re others–they’re the minor parts

Just there to fill the space

So between them I will quickly dart

Telling you each of their place
There’s the Ditz, unbound and fleeting

Unconfined and unaware

As she goes between her meetings

Humming songs and twirling hair
There’s the Jester, ever giggling 

Always quick to crack a joke

Although if he becomes to niggling 

Then his lines ought be revoked
The Mistake’s part’s a needed one 

Unpleasant by design

They’re what the hero thinks they want

Their job’s to change their mind
The Snake slithering and deadly 

Toxic as a blackened mold

Though our hero trusts them readily

They lack hands with which to hold
And of course the final part

Whose importance surpasses doubt

She is the ending and the start

She can’t be done without
Fate–the cast list reads in bold

Narrator from beyond

Writer of every story told 

And all plays we put on 
She pulls the strings, dictates the plot

Goddess to those below

Her workings we understand not

And are never to know
The author of our first weak gasp

And of our final breath 

As she delivers us at last

The curtain call of death. 

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