The Metamorphosis

Like a voice backstage,
In a movie scene,
That merely says,
Dont be seen;
While the music plays,
A sombre theme,
And curtains tug,
At sundry scenes,
That hurl themselves,
At vicarious beings,
Who pay for touch,
From virtual beams,
For cost of flesh,
Is a living dream;
To see no more,
That most do deem,
To caccooned corners,
We take our gleam,
And feed our hopes,
That hungry seem,
To rip our limbs,
In tender dreams,
And winged fly,
To what have beens;
Before the shrieks,
Come waking scream,
And back to life,
As crawling beings...