The Saturday poem: Hamlet

The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter. I am trying, standing in the door, To discover in the distant echoes What the coming years may hold in store. The nocturnal darkness with a thousand Binoculars is focused onto me. Take away this cup, O Abba, Father, Everything is possible to thee. I am fond of this thy stubborn project, And to play my part I am content. But another drama is in progress, And, this once, O let me be exempt. But the plan of action is determined, And the end irrevocably sealed. I am alone; all round me drowns in falsehood: Life is not a walk across a field.