A Soliloquy
Sang in the rain
I pause in the places where winners of races
Stand backs turned to the vanquished and burned
And standing there on the altar of agony
Is the trophy that everyone yearned
I gaze at the space
To the drums and the sounds of the crowd
To the baying and praying of preachers
until the noise of the group is too loud
Like winners, they strut their medals
To the kudos, acclaim and esteem
Then disappear as the march past proceeds
And evaporates, turning into steam
I don’t know which one is the winner
Or how long will the prestige remain
And now, as my eyes are streaming
The winners and losers all look the same.
These days I don’t try to remember
The names of the masters of war
And quite often, I miss the meaning
Or know what more has in store.
Once on the stage, whatever your age
The acts appear in numerical line
First, there’s the walking, followed by talking
Then ultimately, there is a decline.
When it’s all over, lying there in the clover
preceded by pleasure and pain
Then there’s the pushing up of the daisies
a sad soliloquy that I sang in the rain
© David Rudder
2022
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