Shreds: “Final Act”

I’ve torn wide my breastbone to grasp for air.
In the prelude, the poet succumbs to his fate,
Though the pianissimo does not yet fare,
The orchestra swells and brighten the stage.
I recite the script, yet falter the lines,
The theatre responds with thunderous applause,
From the wings, they unleash the hounds;
And I’m but meat for presses and scribes.
I change my form, no longer in verse,
In the end, they demand a corpse in a hearse,
Though they dress me in white, a saintly guise,
I lie ‘mong the worms, wrapped in ashen skies.
I forget the script, from scratch I begin,
The theatre rises, all on their feet,
A beam from the stage, and then I speak,
“Life outpaces you once you’re seated in defeat.”