Thirty Minutes of Writing: Thoughts on Orchard Drive

This is just writing I did 30 minutes after coming from from seeing the play Orchard Drive here in Kelowna during the premiere. It was - interesting. Funny, moving, disturbing. I handed a copy of this over to someone to give to the author on the Saturday matinee, no idea if he ever got it (I couldn't stay, since I had to do laundry :)) So, here we are ...

          1.

Stereotypes painted broadly to canvas,
rough sketches come easily
painting the everymen
who are no man. No men.
There are deep waters here.

Actors, playing parts. But aren't we all?
the quiet voice asks, too soft
to not be heard. We do not fit so easily
into roles, not even those we make
for ourselves. Edges always blur.
Fear death by water - no, by drowning
under what we are, and are not,
and the dreams we can never be.

          2.

Voices whisper in the ever dark places,
in the darkness that is shroud and comfort.
We listen to the ones who say
the words we think we want to hear.

We have not died.
But we have killed.
Evil is not in saying: "Yes."
But in simply never saying: "No."
Evil is consent, and silence.
Silent. The worst are all silent now.

          3.

It is too easy to fall into traps.
We make them for ourselves
As we make our own heavens
And craft private hells.

Refuge in dark images,
In truths to shock. Shells
That hide away deeper truths
Under. These we never sell.

          4.

We are all bought and sold.
Drowned, and drowners both.
Saints and sinner and points between.
No monster, greater; no miracle, lesser.
We are life, and there is power in quiet things.
In the truths everyone knows, and no one speaks.
In the silence carved inside we build dark things, unholy things.
We blame others, but there is no one else to blame.
We are also all the hands holding us down.
Down in the dark, where we have names.
We do not want them: it matters not.
Something's can't be forgiven.
Everything must be.

          5.

In the darkness, we forget our names.
Forsaking games we cling to dreams
of better places, seemings we imagine.
Worlds without sin, without faces
Without hungers no one can sate
No one is greater. Or lesser.
But no matter what we will and dream
We have still forgot our names.

          6.

What would happen, I wonder, I asked you
If everyone of us was suddenly true
If there was no one left who could tell a lie
No matter how hard or long they tried.

You told me that no one could be true
Not and be left without things to rue.
You told me many people would die
Rather than live up to all their lies.

I said: "The world would be better."
You said: "For who? Would you let her,
Tell you that she couldn't stand you
If your daughter said she hated you?"

I said: "I don't have a daughter."
You said: "Don't be stupid. Laughter
Won't answer anything, won't hide
From anyone. We have places inside,"

You said, "we have to keep our own
Private places for us to be alone,
To just be ourselves and no one else
Where we can be true and false."

I said: "I just asked about lies and truth."
You said: "I know. But I know youth
Always says things but never understands.
This world you see is made on quicksand.

"It's made not of truth but of the lies
Without them civilization itself dies.
There was no cherry tree chopped down
There's secrets buried in every town."

I said: "You make me sound foolish
And I think that you just dismiss
What I'm asking, what I'm saying: I said
Wouldn't it be better with no lies instead?"

You said: "I'm sorry." And then you said:
"I'm sorry, but I'd sooner be dead.
Truth is good but it's hard edges dull
Wouldn't you rather people were people?"

And I said: "No." And "Never," I coldly replied.
"That's a long bargain," You sighed.
And in silence you turned, then walked away.
But all I could do was stand and stay.

          7.

It is said the darkness comprehends not the light.
The same is true of the light and the grey places.
The shadows where most of us walk quietly.
Places were we say opinions, but not proclamations.
Places where we say no truth for fear of offending.
The only stand we make is not for light, nor for dark.
We choose which way we face even if they seem the same.

          8.

At the end, when we stop living,
and changing even in the minds
of those we left behind, will we
be able to laugh or only cry
for things did, and worse,
all the things left undone?