It is not an opera,

It is not an opera,

There is no libretto.

The drama is not confined

Within a narrative framework,

No editor to strike out

Unnecessary lines,

Or suggest alternative progression

And character development.

Whilst it can sing

And produce a music

Filled with joy,

Or shot through with the sadness

Of the broken hearted,

An age old refrain,

A lover’s lament,

Which no matter how often

It is sung,

The strings it pulls,

Can still move you to tears,

It is not a song.

Although it can

Be consumed by anger,

And rage at injustice,

Contemplate

The unquestioned,

Deliberate on

Alternative philosophies

That may prioritise

Different aspects

Of human endeavour

One over another,

It is not a debate,

A logical machine

Or binary system,

That will crunch numbers

And produce a formula

To maximise potential.

Neither is it a toy,

A secondary device,

A survival tool.

Another piece in a jigsaw,

Or pawn in a grand play.

It is not the means

To an end,

Or a shoulder

You choose to stand upon,

In the hope that you will

Grow tall enough

To consort with giants.

It is your life,

So treat it well,

As truth to tell,

It might be the only chance

You will ever have,

To live and breathe.