There he is, the Saint, the Myth.
Standing with his boots in the mud,
confused by the cycling toughs.
Travel has brought him to – a world – a place – a snapshot – in time.
Dissimilar alike
Blending playing the role – chosen – written before.
Ordinary crafted, skillfully shaped, in the vehicle to reach desires in limited procrastination.
Standing in the coulissen the theater lights dance in smoke.
Writing the script on the go, improving the story.
Finding the end of the cycle is going back to the beginning.
Following the lead, the red lining that has been the story.
But the lead has snapped in half, now standing on stage finding the words to say.
Turning his head to the shimmer he sees the orchestrator teasingly laughing.
WHAT MUST I SAY! WHAT MUST I DO!
Let tension fall and be your center of attention.
Focus on movement and phrases, dialogs and interaction.
Creativity from the fingers you’ve grown.
Bury the fight that has no win or loose, choose harmony.
This play is written for romance and drama.
Listen and inspire.
That isn’t what I learned at school, he said.
No answer was returned from behind the curtain.
The lights grow dim and shimmer dissipates.
He is left here on his own being the center of attention.