A line is drawn but leaves no mark.
There is fire, but no ash
There is silence rebuking speech
And a knife carving chips.
This hero is not a hero I think.
All kinds of words are thrown
into the imperturbable façade
Constant as the sea’s breaking fury.
Light varnish and confetti vanish
under faltering footsteps.
As the jury flees.
Under the dim light the theatre shines
For me, for me!
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