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Les Marcott
A Monologue In D Minor
Scene4 Magazine-inView

august 2007


While you slept, the world still turned on its axis.

The sun still shone brightly somewhere.

People loved, people hated.

People died in freak accidents.

People were gruesomely murdered.

Somewhere a clown cried.

A mime spoke the unspeakable.

A promise was broken, a friendship betrayed.

The perfect stranger in the midst of his imperfection exceeded all expectations.

While you slept, a lonely voice cried out in the wilderness.

Maybe someone actually listened.

Somewhere justice and liberty took a beating.

On a desolate street on the downward side of town, some bum took a beating.

And while you slept, there were wars, there were rumors of wars.

There was gossip.

There was slander.

There was truth.

There was falsehood.

While you so beautifully dreamed, a child screamed.

A line developed, a wrinkle formed, a furrow deepened on the brow of a very concerned mother.

There was a three alarm fire a few blocks away.

Everything was lost except one Holy Bible turned to the Book of Revelation.

While you slept, there were those who didn't.

They congregated where lonely people congregate.

They mixed a drink, they smoked a cigarette, they pondered, they contemplated.

They sunk into utter despair, brought to the brink of suicide.

As you so peacefully slumbered, some young man was jailed, fingerprinted, and numbered.

Confessing to a crime he didn't commit.

Rock stars reveled in their eccentricities.

The rich and powerful...well they remained rich and powerful.

Someone turned out the lights for the last time, never to return to a job, to a home, to a loved one, 

     to a favorite hideaway.

While you so luxuriously fell into REM sleep, a dollar bill was chased, a memory erased.

A sparrow fell, a dog barked, a clock tick tocked.

A wisp of wisdom ascended from a weeping willow.

The William Tell Overture played inside the head of one deeply disturbed individual.

A father in some third world country consoled and hugged his dying daughter.

Not able to grant even the simplest of wishes.

The winning lottery numbers were...well it doesn't matter.

They are never yours and they are never mine.

Some predicted the end of the world.

And maybe it teetered, maybe it shuddered, maybe it even wobbled a little bit more than usual.

But the world still stood.

It remains standing.                

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About This Article

©2007 Les Marcott
©2007 Publication Scene4 Magazine


Les Marcott is a songwriter, musician, performer and writer. His latest book of monologues, stories and short plays, Character Flaws, is published by AviarPress.
For more of his commentary and articles, check the Archives
Read his Blog


Scene4 Magazine-International Magazine of Arts and Media

august 2007

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