At the end of the Opera

My life is an Opera
Each high and low
Tales complex and twisting
Leaving a silent audience
To hold its breath in awe
While one unsuspecting player
In the cinema - Me
Hasn't got a clue where to go
Where the next cue should be
If the toaster's made of cardboard
Or the enemy truly is
The evil one of the story
The "hero" is only led through
Just as the onlookers
To see if the form
Their hands meant to sculpt
Will be the final printing
While I do not know
What lies at the
End of the Opera
I can still hold true to myself
That the ending will be
What I mold


///for Opera Ghost