Each act a new line, and I hold my head so well.
Power, force, heartfelt words you would almost believe that I was real.
Oh fight, battle, blood pricked from my arm.
A profuse spilling of bitter words from my lips, which have no meaning because I am just a part.
Do they even need me at all? and the play goes on...
Act 9 Scene 2, the endless strain of hidden emotion as I bend over my veiled dreams,
protecting them from the audiences view.
With no where else to turn I take the stage again,
and sing, hoping my voice holds true.
Trembling I stand, dignity intact,
an act, an act, it is all an act!
Photo Credit: www.flickr.com/photos/guatemalaholla/102424237/
(Hmmm, still think this poem needs something...)