Theatre Of The Absurd

My sister and I escape reality
In our theatre of absurdity in the pool area,
At the base of our garden and at the base of conventional thought.
Inventiveness and creativity are unleashed,
Free to stomp amongst the planted plumage,
Jungle spoils and garden greenery.

In our theatre there are no walls.
Discarding our masks of maturity, we become our silly sleeves.
Leaving our guises of sobriety in the rational realm,
We become drunk with amusement.

Behind the brown frown of drab wardrobe doors,
There is a wealth of animated finery and outrageous
Delights to robe our imaginations.
Divested of uniform and obligation to sombre life,
We dress in coloured thought.
We clown and plod about in senseless costume,
We scamper to the garden bed where we become insane.
Sensibility our chaperone and keeper of maturity,
Cannot see us in mock theatre
We do not hearken to timidity.
We are ashamedly brazen amusing ourselves
In the tired audience of our brains.
We dance the perimeters
Abstaining from center stage. We are the center stage
The pool is in the middle, the middle of our fun.
A pond of muddled madness and thought.
An ocean of derangement as bottomless as our craze.
We perform to our reflections.
We have lagoon of lunacy in our puddled heads.

We act in abstraction.
My sister is fine tune to my theatrical taste.
In perfect pantomime we take our positions around the garden cast,
The ferns and pines wait patiently for their cue.

I am breathless, for just now I have run thrice around the tiled
Margins of our pool in theatrical stride.
I ran resembling the a tea pot with a handle arm and
Levitating spout.
I chanted the 'the sword, the sword, the sword!',
And yelled to the neighbors peeping with sensible eyes
Behind their patterned curtains.
'Drain the canals of Venice!'

Perhaps you would like a cup of our absurdist tea?