A Soliloquy

The following are the opening lines from a very, very, very, very serious play I started to write a few years ago entitled, Not the Fish!:

The fish or not the fish—that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler for fish to suffer
The hook and sinker of outrageous fishing,
Or to take fins against a sea of troubles
And, by swimming past, end them. To die, to fish—
The hook—and by a fish to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural hooks
That fish are heir to—‘tis a consummation,
Quite truly, to be fished. To die, to fish—
To fish, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that fish of death what dreams may come,
When we have run out all this fishing line,
Must give them paws. And with these paws
May they learn to walk on land.

No one to tell it still haunts these dreams

To lose a dear sister
into the swift wind of days
and the dark hands of death
you need

To find some choosing
find some

And then make a decision despite corruption.

It's all there
under the shadows
with moon
over the living grave

At the exact same time it is stagnant.

And a swift air
silent voice,
let it go on,
remember love,

But what about the runaway?

That burden is not
on you.
That burden
is mine.
Tears will still fall

Into the swift, if that's okay.