My Dear,
I am ready to say I am sorry. I’m sorry for dashing the dreams you once dreamt.
In the theater, the brightness does blind an attempt to objectify deities’ stage.
The subjective in Shakespeare’s creations capture unfairly. What chance do mere men
Stand against an immortal Juliet? Or a Kate? Or a Rosalind, dancing in Arden?
This accursed routine: observe the unlimited talent, ensnare the untrained
Undiscerning resolve, and, in hearts of all men, reveal unattainable dreams.
I am ready to say my goodbye.
Your trade is not a thespian.
Our theater lights were set upon reality.
I met you under sunshine, bright as Sybil’s love.
But Dorian calls me brother. Dorian’s picture smiles for me as well.
I call you Sybil Vane because I’ve seen you dance a god,
But dimly powered lights must fade and dash my dreams as well.
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