someonecompletelyrandom

I need help classifying something that I'm doing. It's a rather lenthy (about forty minutes) neo-classical (and avant garde) piece that will occosionally have poety recited during.

I'm hesitent to call this an opera, because although the poem has a narritive, it is fuzzy and not clearly a "story".

This is a little section of the poem to be recited at moments throughout:

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Though I walk through the valley of deep shadow
I fear no badness

Because I am the badness.

Embracing the darkness of the morgue
Walking down it's halls

The pale faces all look the same
They have hairs as white as snow

They are not bodies. They are mirrors in open caskets.
They are me. Starring back blood shot blue eyes.

And each sand the glass drops
I take another step toward them. Whispering, silently whispering.

I now see a blurry figure through the crack in the door. It is a woman, a lady.
She has skin as white as mine, hair as white as mine, and her clothes are the same as mine.

But she is wearing something I am not. A smile.
And her whiteness seem not pale, but radient.

The sands continue to fall
and I continue to move toward the caskets
But as I move, so does she.

Closer and closer
she comes to the crack in the door.

And Closer and Closer
I watch her.