The knife <br />is pulled out of the back. <br /> <br />The poison is spat out <br />& the dead come back <br /> <br />they stand <br />before us <br /> <br />joyful <br />& our joy joins theirs <br /> <br />like waves <br />that crash <br /> <br />upon the sands <br />of our senses <br /> <br />& Time turns back <br />to the ordinary moment. <br /> <br />We stand <br />& clap. <br /> <br />These our actors <br />(which we see before us) <br />take their bow <br /> <br />soak up <br />the applause <br /> <br />& dash behind <br />the safety of the curtain <br /> <br />that has come down <br />between their world & ours. <br /> <br />We enter into <br />the coldness of the night <br /> <br />our beaths <br />like spirits <br /> <br />speaking for us <br /> <br />the actors' dreams <br />still clutched like flowers <br /> <br />in our hands <br /> <br />& wander on <br /> <br />drawn now <br />to the lovely laughter <br /> <br />of our Hamlet <br />eating chips <br /> <br />with Ophelis <br />& her friends. <br /> <br />And so, our play <br />ends.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chips-laughter/
