Like a lone actor on an empty stage,
I linger here, uncertain of my part;
With lines forgot—not knowing on what page,
Or when to enter now and spill my heart.
Not knowing how to feel or what do—
Nor when to start or stop each ad libbed line,
Nor when to bow and bid the crowd adieu,
Nor mark the silent passage made by time.
Still I will act as though my God does see
And speak as though He hears each fallen word,
To give my passion thus sweet liberty
And throw my living art upon His sword—
For though my act upon this stage be flawed,
I shall play on—but for the grace of God.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.