The original version of Passion Play, titled Playwrite, has been published in All of Me Vol. V, courtesy of Shadow Spark Publishing. Featured art is by Karol Bąk.

Listen to Passion Play by Richard Charles Stevens (Andromeda Suite)

Listen to Andromeda by Dance With The Dead

The world’s a stage
A passion play
Where harp-strings praise
Impassioned braves
Gallant knights ride satin waves
And fashion ways to rise
The world’s a coliseum
The arena of Athena
Seen anew through tears
Wept ashen grey
That saturate the eyes
.
In midst of marble palisade
Neath marvel of the skies
The slain are seen to graduate
From battle-scarred demise
The blood runs red in rivulets
Yet still requests continuance
The crowd proclaim Odysseus
Most vitreous of eye
I die, you die
Claims the brave
To their innate delight
Indeed they only came here for a fight
.
The world’s a quiet place
In brace of time and space aside
Undressed of vocal context
Bears no heft of weight applied
Silent on address of those disposed of faith—Capacious minds
Exposed to vacant nature of the blight
The world’s a swarming hive
Where every drone a throne be prized
Not a reign be overthrown
Of no bestowed decline
.
There are kings and there are queens
There are hopes that cling to dreams
There are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.
There are kings and there are queens
There are hopes that cling to dreams
There are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.
The world’s a stage
A passion play
Where harp-strings praise
Impassioned braves
Gallant knights ride satin waves
And fashion ways to rise
The world’s a coliseum
The arena of Athena
Seen anew through tears
Wept ashen grey
That saturate the eyes
.
The world is ours to claim our place
Flame inside our clay to shape
Eyes our own, remain that way
Until we see the gains outweighed
The world’s a stage
A passion play
Off-Broadway it may be
But how long is a length of string
When stretched across the sea
Who’s to say the best that we can be
Ourselves aside
For only we can tell our tales
Compel the waves to rise
And only we can see the world
Through celebrated eyes
Only we can see the world
Through celebrated eyes
.
The world’s a stage
A passion play
Where harp-strings praise
Impassioned braves
Gallant knights ride satin waves
And fashion ways to rise
The world’s a coliseum
The arena of Athena
Seen anew through tears
Wept ashen grey
That saturate the eyes
.
There are kings and there are queens
There are hopes that cling to dreams
There are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.
There are kings and there are queens
There are hopes that cling to dreams
There are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.
In midst of marble palisade
Neath marvel of the skies
The slain are seen to graduate
From battle-scarred demise
Not a reign be overthrown
Of no bestowed decline
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
.
Reposed in cadent savour of
Reposed in cadent savour of
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
Reposed in cadent savour of
Reposed in cadent savour of
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
.
Cliché is a metaphor
For something game that came before
Contradiction scattered wisdom
Factually fantastic fiction
Not all static factors friction
Not all fractures need physicians
Not all bleeds concede eviction
Passion breeds emphatic diction
.
In midst of marble palisade
Neath marvel of the skies
The slain are seen to graduate
From battle-scarred demise
Not a reign be overthrown
Of no bestowed decline
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
.
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
Reposed in cadent savour of delight
.
The world’s a stage
A passion play
Where harp-strings praise
Impassioned braves
Gallant knights ride satin waves
And fashion ways to rise
.
The world’s a stage
A passion play
Where harp-strings praise
Impassioned braves
Gallant knights ride satin waves
And fashion ways to rise
.
The world’s a coliseum
The arena of Athena
Seen anew through tears
Wept ashen grey
That saturate the eyes
.
We are kings and we are queens
We have hopes that cling to dreams
Ours are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.
We are kings and we are queens
We have hopes that cling to dreams
Ours are open hearts unseamed
To be spoken in reprise
.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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