Behind The Scenes

Well decored stage,

Trying to hide something?

Well made-up faces with

Tears channeled from eyes to chin.

Few filled seats with emotionless eyes,

Gaped mouths and droopy heads.

Behind The curtain, is an 

Ocean of polished pearls.

In the middle of the stage,

Sits an old man. 

A man with golden gray hair.

His face, wrinkled and pale

Yet, pleaded with joy and pride.

Characters, that lived through him

Have been a part of his body and soul,

And molded him to perfection. 

In the corner , is a group of 

Young ladies,with braided locks 

That mirrors their lives.

Living characters, in tightened 

Clothes to match ranks,

With heavy paints, they can

Barely feel themselves. 

These giggles between dialogues 

Seem so real and pure,

Unlike the outer world. 

Children playing in the back-stage,

Dressed in old ripped duds

Ready to be exhibited on stage

Know nothing, beyond their fate.

The rest of their breath is saved to be played 

On stage living someone's life. 

The curtain raised to the third bell.

They lived their roles, faked their lives.

Laughed, cried, yelled, loved,

Like puppets on strings. 

Dead eyes couldn't excite, nor 

Embarrass them,

For, many of 'em 

Were into the character,

Where others were taught no reality. 

They lived and died, in characters 

Leaving behind no identity. 

All they have in one, 

Is the magic of art 

That they carry within.