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A melody


The old melody of life
plays an ironic tune
Hitting every single note
With palpable pain
This quiet, dark symphony 
narrates a story
The drums beat aloud
with nothing to gain
The rhythm slows down
feigning a finish
Only to rise again
in front of widened eyes
The music keeps playing
for what seems like ages
Mesmerizing both
the fool and the wise 
The crescendo rises
to deceive them again
The audience smiles wryly
sensing an end that nears
The show is almost over
An applause awaits 
But what drowns the last note
is the cries and the tears