Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Another sonnet for the Bard's birthday.
We live, as many do, within that space
where footlights end, and audience begins.
The fear lurks, unrelenting, in that place,
too close to catch the actor’s disciplines.
Tentative in spotlights, under wraps,
I seek the hand of moonlight’s puppeteer.
Stage fright fills imagination’s gaps
where props behind love’s curtains disappear.
Your words betray the secrets sought in silence.
The eyes of all observe your crucial scene.
A soliloquy of gestures in defiance
of direction, daring me to intervene.
Returning, where we comfortably consume
The space between the curtains and the gloom.
25 Jan 2003