You sit on the stool and peek out
as the crowd grumbles to life.
Performers are positioned,
right foot forward, back straight,
flaunt that proud breast.
As applause grows
there is ascent into glory.
Sit upon that stool,
dangle your feet,
the chair has grown its legs.
Watch as heroes return;
battle-hardened, bleeding, swearing legends.
Wonder why they never call your name.
Children enter, adults return.
Still your soul clings to the seat.
The legs stretch and grow,
beyond the theatre,
above them all.
When your head is filled with the clouds,
and the taste of sweet rain on your lips;
look down —
the season has tumbled by,
the crowd silent,
and the performance over.
~
A short poem on hesitation that was my contribution of 1for30, for National Poetry Month. I know I cannot do it daily, but I hope it will be one of many.
thenssthen 