Poem by Marc Aupiais
The Opera House~ fill;
The Modern Emperor- present;
There to watch the play;
With his men ~ quite armed~ quiet armed;
Before him;
Men and women did play;
And screech with the banshee Opera!
And before him; a man did sing;
Oh! Terrible sorrow;
Of love; Oh! Loss of love!
The Modern Emperor;
Did judge;
Surely; the actor; ought;
Though not the writer;
Had him quite convinced;
Instantly; for blasphemy he was put to death;
"Out of his Misery"- the Modern Emperor said.
"Misery", his Lady said, "Misery, he was a singer, an actor; but illusion! It was no mercy to him! He had no suffering!"
"I like to think he did!" Said the Emperor, "Besides, his blasphemy is clear, to Live with pain like that Unnatural, he ought be put to death for choosing life!"
Thus said the Emperor
and the Modern World!
For the source of art,
Of heroism, of ages past!
Courage to live;
To be chaste or good!
To survive!
Quite the blasphemy in the Modern Arts!
Martial-ing us unto death;
Unto death' not life!
And the Emperor and his killing ought not be misread;
"I think," The Lady said, "You killed him for guilt within; because you know his pain you deserve; because you know it awaits you; and empathise; and not able to bear one small bit of his pain; of empathy; you insist he die~"
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