“All the world’s a stage…”
(W. Shakespeare)
Sit still and look.
The play develops.
It grows from the root of common knowledge.
The vessels form and fill with blood and bile.
Sighs, screams and whispers fill the air.
You run headlong into the wall of pain
and, winded by the force of impact,
stop,
doubled up,
just breathing.
You cry and laugh in turn and in-between.
Pain, imperceptibly, becomes a habit
but so does the joy –
both dulled by usage.
The actor’s voice,
still raised in imprecation,
commands attention
and, of course, you listen…
But now mostly listen to the silence
that is to come.
The play will soon be over.
