Oh dear

this is a BIG MISTAKE and I know it now, but I want to follow it through for now.
it should be good for me, even though the idea is actually scaring me silly.
I wrote this poem which will follow for Jackie and Simon, who taught charl and I theatre stuff and pretty much introduced me to the teatre business. The relevance will be lost on a great many who don't know them or don't know twelfth night, but my rationale for posting it here is I need to conquer my fear of letting people read my rubbish work or I'll never be a writer. I don't know if it'll work, but we'll see. I have a few points to make first, too:
1)I know the poem is rubbish
2)I know no one reads this site, which is why I am using it now
3) the first line of the seccond scene in 12th night (shakespeare) which is the first play we did with Jackie and Simon, is "what country, friends, is this?" the answer: "this is illyria, Lady". I shall stop now before I continue to reproduce the whole play here.
4)This poem is rubbish
5)thankyou.
6)I really hate the 'teen writing poetry' thing. I do not usually write poetry and only do so because it is crowd pleasing. I haven't actually tried very hard at this poem because it would hurt too much if I tried hard and it was still crap
7) the name 'Chicago' in line 12 should and will be replaced by a place with a name beginning with L, but I can't think of anywhere except london and when followed by Soho that is made slightly arbitrary. Chicago was not written as a refrence to the musical, it was a MISTAKE.
8) I REALLY hope no one reads this.

What country, friends, is this?
This is the land of living dreams
Where the thoughts and strange musings of writers
Will dance before your very eyes
- tonight only –
It is the centerpiece and showground where philosophies dance,
The land of depressions, loves, laughs, comedies, tragedies…
tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,
(my lord)
this is the bottom of the sea and it is the heavens.
It is deepest Africa and the Deep South
It is gloomy Ellsinore, Chicago,
Soho and Sezuan.
This is Meanwhile In The Woods;
A crossroads, some time later;
The king’s bedchamber;
The poor man’s dream.
This is the land of a thousand sunrises
While the wind of suppressed sighing breaths
Gasps in the darkness.
The pinprick of light in the universal night.
This, my friends, is Illyria
This is Elysium.