Encores are for people who can’t let go

I’m the chosen one,

The hero,

The protagonist,

The subject of the prophesy,

The seer of sights and receiver of messages,

The one who slipped through a secret portal,

The one who found something,

The one who was told,

"It’s up to you to save the world!"

As if it was a good thing,

to

be

singled

out.

I burned down my metaphorical house when I was born,

And since then,

I’ve burned down millions more.

My world is already ashes.

That’s the point, isn’t it?

You build the block tower, admire it, and knock it down,

Revelling in the crash and tumble of clattering wood.

It’s up to me to save the world,

Maybe because I know it’s not worth saving.

It had its time on the stage, and now the curtains are waiting to

Close.

So here I am,

Waiting in the wings,

Hand on the rope,

My eyes trailing up the pulley,

Head tilted in the dark,

Fingers tightening,

Muscles contracting,

And with just one tug,

And another,

And another,

The curtains sweep across the border and

With just one press of a button

The lights go down,

And with just one smile into the darkness,

"I guess the world is doomed, then."

And the house lights come up.

And the audience disperses.

And after the actors take off their makeup,

And the band packs up their instruments,

And the crew tidies everything away,

We’ll disperse, too.

Leaves on the wind.

The tree has died, and now it’s our turn

To find out where we go when we decompose.