My Lasting Minutes

Beneath the glow of a flickering screen,
A kingdom rises—cold and keen.
Here, in a court of curated delight,
I dance for hearts, both day and night.

A jester crowned in a digital haze,
I seek approval in fleeting praise.
Each "like" a jewel, each "share" a throne,
Yet nothing is real—I wear no crown.

The crowd applauds while the music plays,
They chant my name through fleeting days.
But when I stumble, the song turns mute,
And like mist, they vanish—cold and astute.

O how they scatter, these phantoms of need,
Bound by no ties, just their hunger for the 'feed'.
They take my song, my fire, my soul,
Leaving behind a gaping hole.

I smile at the chorus of emptiness here,
In this theatre of vanity, hollow and drear.
For fame is a shadow, a breeze that fades,
As fleeting as autumn’s golden cascades.

LET THE CURTAIN FALL!, let silence reign,
I tear the mask that binds my pain.
Let the world keep its hollow refrain—
I seek a love that will always remain.