The Globe

December 16, 2010
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The cobblestones come up to meet you
And the city day starts to die
The hot air wraps around you
And the city night comes alive

The old hallways greet you
And the wood smells sweet and dank
While whispers slide betwixt the walls
And every oak creaky plank

Shafts of light slice through the darkness,
Arrows from the sconces glow
The communal breath of the every man
As time begins to slow

Marching to the silky wall
Same color as your cheeky flush
Your cotton ribcage shrinks
When the crowd's roar becomes a hush

Out there, is all you could ever dream of
Everything you could hope to feel
Where you're your own stranger
And lovers' monsters are real

You part the line, and step up forth
Where seconds last for an age
Remind yourself that the stage is the world
And all of the world is a stage

The mask put on for daily life
The public can now probe
This is the earth that goes on within
The old and trusted Globe

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