Sonnet 95

Like a lone actor on an empty stage,
I am but here alone within my part;
With lines forgot, not knowing joy or rage
Should enter here, this moment of my art;
For what to feel or say I have no cue,
Or when to start or stop each ad libbed line,
Or when to bow and bid the crowd adieu,
Or even yet, the tally of passed time.
Still I will act as though my God does see
And speak as though He hears each fallen word,
And give my passion thus sweet liberty
To throw my living art upon this sword;
For though my act upon this stage be flawed,
I soldier on, but for the grace of God.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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