“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts…”
At this juncture, it seems that the clouds and stars and birds and trees and wind and sea are all murmuring the same thing:
“Play your part….”
Occasionally you’ll catch a “…better… or else…!”
If the tide is too unseasonably low
And the beauty of that present presence isn’t caught Up
all at once,
in the bat of a lash,
sparkling with indignation through and through,
Before it breaks into
gentle laughter,
a
reminder of
kaboo.
Then a long sigh
floats aside our
ego savior-
faire
How long before our parts are played with the beauty and precision
for which they were written 2 dare?
When exactly will we accept the magnificence of these roles,
scripts, parts; all already cast,
already ours?
Though perhaps our delivery is languid
in the turbulence of something so
allegedly far.
***
DIRECTOR’S CUT:
And what are we to make of the Director’s Cut of our tele-Vive
that makes us weep for all the assassinations
the television war has made us grieve.
If life is a grand show
that inevitably has the curtains shut,
Wouldn’t it make sense
to watch the Director’s Cut?
I, this mysterious Brilliance, in charge of every last detail
Says your line is as follows:
“Fret not my dear, your script reads ‘Prevail’ ”
So seek out your coach once the play itself has been studied absolutely true,
For eternal are His precepts,
Though only She acts as if they were
new.
So as you read your lines, watch to see,
why is your role {if at all] lacking in dimension?
In utter originality?
Like any true artist knows it is in the love of the craft
that ultimately renders the villain’s role
indubitably daft.
So rest not in their pension of blood and disarray so concord,
4 it is in the destiny of our drama and performance
that will eventually move us Upward.
Selah*
Jaguaressprophetess111 