An orchestra blasts as the curtain closes at the end of a performance and as the speaker approaches the stage microphone.
“Thank you all for your presence tonight! Deepest apologies, but one of our premium performers cancelled and we’ve allowed a peasant from the coast named, hmm hmm, Scott Mitchell to recite HIS FIRST sonnet during intermission. Perhaps use this time to visit the restrooms or getting refreshments.”
A small gang of teenagers snicker as they disperse rotten tomatoes to their mates, in preparation to bombard the stage.
As bagpipes begin to play softly, the teens resist the urge and a curious audience returns to their seats.
Seated in the center of the stage, with long hair blocking view of his downward staring face, is the peasant using a candle as his reading light. The musicians pause and then start again, synchronous, as he begins reading…
“Throwing bottles to the sea with last hopes
replies from the queen were to no avail
In each, contained a small piece of his heart
each one was destined to where he once sailed
Spent himself, he did, on rejecting ears
her angel eyes he dreamed of, turned away
Accepting the fate of all of his fears
moments shared with others did not ease pain
In dark days he accepted his demise
seduced to follow a new warrior’s quest
Still, echoes of memories pierced his eyes
yearning for one more chance to give his best
Outside the queen’s window, a proof of sort
undying love in bottles filled her port”