The Stage

Date: 09/24/2013 at 23:51
From: Scarlatti's Muse, Chryseas Ashaela, the Argent Avatar of Art
To : Everyone
Subj: The Stage

The world's a stage, we do our parts...
From tiny ants to beasts and upstarts.
But nothing given, nothing gotten,
To be among the not forgotten.

One's place is not small, unless he be,
Feeling meagre, his soul so tiny...
But how we triumph against these states,
Are what define us, our strength awaits.

We all wear masks like actors abroad,
Some below quite like the facade,
Others are painted and dolled disparate,
With the soul behind losing merit.

But none escapes the stage at hand,
At His Stage I take my stand,
With His Eternal Song beside,
I'll walk His Realm the world wide.

Many hats and parts I'll play,
But the one I e'er choose each day,
Is the one He grants as Artist dear,
Exhibiting my Passion far and near.

Passion is the ultimate stirring,
The strings we pluck as artists luring,
All who voyeur at our Arts,
We plink and pull their precious hearts.

That's our place on the stage of songs...
Our voices right where each belongs...
Piquing our audience's soul and essence...
Sharing our gifts and Art's presence.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Miraman, in the year 636 AF.