That feeling has returned
when words are not my own
my history lost in
the blink of an eye, its
flight unseen, a blip in
the system.

All things will pass they say
reality - negotiable
the lethal secrets
of tyrants are
transitory, banal.

Are we actors, miming,
bouncing like flies between
invisible barriers
whilst the distracted playwrite
remains rigidly averse
to prompt us from the wings?