The God of an Empty Stage.
Those men, they are gods among men,
garbed in motley, silk and steel,
they go before the crowd again.
Beneath the lights once more
they await the frenzied roar
Of the mob,
drunk upon pomp and pagentry.
The actor takes his final bow,
the make-up fading from his tired brow,
the lights begin to dim,
his strain-ed smile to falter;
for up the crowd have struck,
their final, futile chorus,
an empty, dutiful verse:
A staggering sound,
yet a silence profound.
And so shadow falls across the stage,
the actor's face a shroud;
around he hears his audience sound,
their banal, empty words abound,
a dull buzz upon the stage.
A darkened stage.
An empty stage.
Vacant but for the actor's twin jewels shining in the dark,
they close, as he shambles unremarked.
Beneath the lights he is a god among men,
free of reality's cage.
But in the dark he is alone:
The God of an Empty Stage.
