Word Play

Well, it’s here. The audiences, who,
Unsuspecting, sit perched, waiting
to see that thing–
that incredible power–
that magical,
ethereal,
elusive dragon of talent
that will singe them and squeeze them
with its incredible tail until their lungs
release that semi-audible
gasp of what must come from within,
the sound of joy and pain and depth
that resonates well within the universal being,
resounding Whitman’s universal “yawp” from the balconies
of cultured man. And then they’ll cry (tomorrow, too),
and have to see it again. And you haven’t even made them
laugh yet. Just wait until that happens!
Oh, perhaps they will love you more than
I do, but I doubt it. You see, they’ll watch and feel the awe,
And you’re acting. I watch you grow;
and acting is nothing compared to the you
I know.