SAMUEL BECKETT'S "GODOT"

I played you "Godot"
for two seasons
in my mind
with a genius halo
at the pain at life
issuing decrees
from his reasoned words
only open in the land
of the living
by memory's ripe glow
with long suffering ribs
pressuring to open up
my cribbing notes
in my bones to speak out
from my quote's dialogue
as actor and art director
under the lighting on stage
will not forget his verses
of pilgrimages language
in the whelp's forgiving wonder
of a suppressed poet's cry
shrieking at unanswered
writing intelligence rooms
in a rap of doomed questions
about an initial existence
and at a two faced laugh
resting in the safe sound
of his featured epitaph
from an underground strife
and forced as a visionary guest
after a contrary act
of an existential collapse.