the Playwright

Every actor is a hypocrite when
portraying characters cut from cloth stained patterns
swiped from living characters
who perform in non-theatrical productions.

Leading ladies are seduced when
these hypocrites strum their feminine wiles
with orations seasoned in the aroma of
Himalayan spikenard and magnolia.

When will supporting cast members
awake from the malaise rocking this love story
as a fable worthy of a fairytale
contrived in a narrative of immoral import?

Them stagehands are lust filled men
enamored by partially exposed cleavage and
big bosoms belonging to thin waist women
with round and plump rumps.

This audience, fronting fake faces, seemingly
captivated by the spectacle of this nauseating
tale of love bound in due course to conclude
in tragedy, sours my soul; all the while

perfectly directed by the little bastard of all
theatrical directors who summons some, and
summarily dismisses others with a gentle flicking
of his limp wrist.

The playwright, if not for other metaphors
is the devil incarnate for having encroached upon
seduction through words that subtly entice
leading lady to fornicate. Shame!

I, a Baptist minister, am not amused by
this staged performance of seduction, arousing of
sensual pleasures, where from comes adultery.

However, it is a play I will see again,
for theological reasons of course, and most certainly,
sermon material.

Wink, wink.

~ the Playwright

© 2017 by emmett wheatfall
All Right Reserved