ode: recollections from the stage

ode: recollections from the stage
and remembrance of imitation of an alter persona
by: suhleenuh myhoney

on the hard wood stage, my feet stand still but my knees are shaking.
my heart pumps blood over exuberantly;
fluttering like a humming birds wings, it pollen for the taking.
the bright white light fires, exposing every twitch of my countenance.
i plaster a smile onto my face, so big it splits my head in two.
my muscles twitch; i tread lightly as if an ocean of acid awaits me.
sometimes i tread upstage to be shielded by the throng, another pawn in musical chess.
sometimes i tread downstage to outwardly conduct myself in a prodigious fashion.

as i sit in my lock down cell, my island, i pine for my stage.
an echo of the white light stings my skin; the same song abounds through my mind.
i hum in agreement, no longer amused by my day to day ordinances.
the clock's small hand rounds its face, shy of when the sun begins to descend.
i enter the theater again, the smell of fresh paint and parchment emitted through the glass entry way.
i view a haughty prodigy harping shakespearean lines, globules producing on his forehead.
i spot a dreamer, an onlooker, in beatitude with the prodigy's chimera of a performance.
i am the dreamer, onlooking on the raw talent of the others, dumbfounded on how i even made it to the back row.

as the white light shines on the facade once more,
one's eyes travels over the intertwined stories of the eager eyes, always watching.
i spy one with crevasses carved deep in her aged face, her mouth agape, a smile plays across her face.
she watches in amusement, the echo of the white light stings her skin too.

as i sing, her mouth opens wider, no stranger to the lows and highs of the notes.
as my brow furrows, her wrinkles cave in deeper; no stranger to the imitation of sadness or despair.
as she is in remembrance of the stage, she is youthful.
she is in remembrance of the imitation of the alter personas she preformed when her curtain opened.
i will become the old woman.

being in the presence of genius, inspires me to step out from the mass.
the flat piece of wood hold hundreds of layers of paint,
hundreds of performances the required someone to push through their consciousness;
and become and alter being that breaths, feels and reacts.
to be a half- hearted wallflower on your own personal island
is acceptable if you become every aspect of a wallflower on the stage full heartedly.