Thursday, May 24, 2018
And days of drama pass to lonely sleep;
Performers sharing all that they could give,
Are taking with them pieces that they keep.
They shed the stolen lives they occupied,
And served the audience the residue.
While deep in character, the part they hide
Lives on, a spark, a flame they can’t eschew.
Each thespian’s a cast, in amber saved:
A soaring company, a silent choir.
Each author’s children timelessly enslaved,
Mute retinue an artist must acquire
To aid an actor’s depth when in a play.
And deep inside a ghost light shows the way…
A piece of every character I have ever played remains inside me, endlessly waiting on a cue to emerge and live vicariously once again.
Posted by Mick at 10:27 PM