One day the scene will end,
my last lyrical line spoke forth.
My part at last will be done,
and I will leave the stage in silence
as the play goes on.
Scene after scene will unfold,
act after act,
as the lights grow slowly dimmer,
and night takes the stage.
I will wait,
with multitudes in the wings,
and with the winged multitudes,
to see the end,
when all the parts are played out,
and the curtains close
to open again on a perfect bow.
When my lines run out,
I will wait.
And those left onstage will wonder,
when I leave it,
what impassioned my performance.
What was it I found in the fury
of reason, emotion, and parts partly played?