The Whole World Is A Stage

Is this the end, or just another start?
Opening at the close,
Closing is only when we part.
The shining light is dawning,
Is this the end, or just another morning?

The end is the end.
The start is the start.
Don't blur the boundaries
Of our common sense.

This life is linear.
Poetry is linear.
Your piece is circular
Your piece is not poetry
Your mind is secular.

Life goes on as rivers flow,
People come and people go,
Don't tell me what,
I already know.

This poem is not of my creation,
The scattered letters of this imagination
My every being and every saying
Are all just words of a greater feeling.
A feeling of which owns my soul
For it has made it in its whole.

I, the poet, at the feelings hand,
Do not write a word of sense
For someone quite as dense,
As the man, of whose part I planned,
Or the audience, wherever this lands.

Stop with such petty remarks,
At least I know my parts.
I know what I need to know
I learnt the script
You just made my lines less 'legit'.

Focus on the now,
Not on the how,
You wrote me from new
Just to put me down,
Well I laugh at
Life's great joke on you.

I knew you'd say that,
But the show must go on,
The world is a stage
And the audience is out there.

Is this the end, or just another start?
Opening at the close,
Closing is only when we part.
The shining light is dawning,
Is this the end, or just another morning?