Have you ever sat backstage,
And looked at props around you?
Plays, Musicals, Poetry Jams,
All of which are never heard again.
Everyone cheered,
Then a curtain fell.
All were revered,
For a role they did well.
I stand here a player,
No different than they.
An actor that must be heard,
Or his voice be stripped away.
Listen to my tales,
Contained in these verses.
If you care to look deeper,
You'll see my mind is burning.
A performer can't act,
Without his voice or mind.
If I lose both at once,
Ending at once shall be my life.
YOU ARE READING
Who is He?
PoetryA look inside my tattered mind. All of these are original poems written by me in various moods of my life.
