Everything would fit
Seamlessly into the script.
What fits on this shifting stage
Of dark shadows and brilliant drapes,
Where flashy lights hide the blacks,
Figures lurk in corners ill-lit
And grinning masks wear painted lips.
Where is that story of a "brave new world"
With freedom its title, written in bold?
Caution was not the moral we read
Nor were our roles the old repeats.
Where is that dream? Where indeed?
Freedom is to look over my shoulder
For fear breathes down my ears.
Living is to keep an eye out sharp