Soul’s Quill

As I quill my soul across the page,

I feel the chill of centre stage,

And the thrill when the curtain’s raised.

With sets erased, and empty floors,

There’s no applause, no encores, and no exit doors.

I’m an actor all alone, pretending till the end,

With anxiety a deity, and fear for a friend.

This theatre has become my cage, not my stage;

For freedom is in my truth, not my age,

And the innocence of my youth lost in the rage.

But I will act out the play and draw a crowd,

And they will see my soul sing out loud.

They will listen; they will hear,

And they will cheer,

When they feel the fading of their fear,

And see their soul’s truth appear.

A soul that’s pure, clear, crisp, and clean;

Putting on a show they’ve never seen.

So as I stage my soul’s revival,

And await the arrival of mankind’s survival;

I will create upon these floors,

A cause for applause,

And as I fulfil my goal across this stage,

I will quill my soul from its cage.