Poetry

Curtain drawn, lines spewed.
An ignorant display.
A stiff yawn, the stage booed.
Uninteresting play.

As the male drags on his horrid life, 
He drags his feet in guilt.
He's lost his only, loving wife, 
And burned their lover's quilt.

He is but just a hollow shell that shuffles down a path.
His scarred and tattered body has always felt life's cruel wrath.

And just when you think his pain has dulled, and happiness shines through, 

Life pulls another deadly blow, that brings pain into view.

But this play is a boring one, for it's been seen a lot.
Its repetition isn't fun, it seems it's all for naught.