All The World's A Stage Poem by Brooke Renwick

All the world's a stage but,
is the starvation just theatrics?
Are the car wrecks part of it too?
Is the hardship real or an act?

We're all actors playing a part but,
when you went to hospital,
and the nurses said you had no pulse,
which part were you playing?

What is truth in fact I ask?
Where are the staged performers?
Where are my lines to rehearse when
I whisper, 'I am exhausted'.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
One road will lead you believe that
all the world's is a stage.
The other road is harder to negotiate.

We wonder lonely as a cloud if
we negotiate the ugliness and all
of it's dead ends and weirdness
and we have no one to love!