All the World’s a Stage

The pain won’t leave

It stands in the wings
The antithesis of a prompt
Waiting to rewrite the script the minute I acknowledge it

I will not listen

The last of the cast I tread these well worn boards alone
Each step echoing with scenes long since past
Voices I will not hear again until this play is over

But I cannot bring the curtain down

The spotlight finds me
Burning away my tears before they form
Forcing me to focus on the audience ahead

I must give them what they want to see

My lines slip effortlessly from my lips
Like make up over well moisturized skin
Creating the illusion of a smile

I reprise the person I once was

A character spun from the threads of memory
Emotions are costumes to be worn and discarded at will
Laughter summoned as my favourite prop

I am the world’s finest actor

But that is all I am

Realised I hadn’t posted anything on here for a while and thought, since I’ve been working on a short story involving actors, that this was an appropiate time to post this poem.

2 thoughts on “All the World’s a Stage

  1. Really like this – love the mental imagery and the balance of skill and unhappiness (the feeling of being trapped or maybe that's just how I read it?).


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