The world is a stage
Being pulled from under your feet.
The actors stumble along
Too fast to spot,
To enjoy.
They scream, chuckle, whimper, snap salutes,
Of simply stroll along.
Either way, they look back
As they leave the stage
And wonder what just happened.

Every line improvised
Every prop insufficient
Every set inconvenient

Some regret their performance...
Others regret not performing...

You step on
Run along dazed
Then somehow find your way offstage.
"Why did I bother?"
You ask yourself.

But when you take your seet in the audience
The beauty in the actor's pain
And the genius of the playwright
Come into focus.