Someone took a pen and began to write a song,
Written symbols brief yet somehow profoundly long,
Breathless, abstract, but filled with life and rage,
Will into words, as their heart filled up the page.
Someone took a step toward an expansive crowd,
Eyes eagerly peering, a silence roaring loud,
Someone held their breath and dared to take the stage,
Fighting through the fear, breaking beyond their cage.
Someone made a choice, one they couldn’t change,
To an end they never drew, nor written on any page,
That choice led to something, leading then somewhere,
A new puzzle, or a riddle, tipped between foul and fair.
This is the play, the one without an end,
The one about life and death, real and pretend,
Of birth, decay, for every night and every day,
Of the joys, the tears, and all the passing years.
Someone failed, someone succeeded,
Someone became, in the place of what preceded,
For every actor lost, a new one arose,
For every question resolved, another to propose.