Wouldn't you love to control perfection?
Pluck the beauty from your mind,
and weave it into a single thread,
for all to behold.
To hold the very air within your hand,
and change it to fit your need.
A certain temperature, a certain feel,
and fill the room with it.
Hang the curtains, and Hang the lights,
Take a moment for every cue.
Paint the floor by hand,
Feel the sensuous emotion.
Know the every moment,
Will be followed by the next.
The perfect order, and the perfect
Second on the stage.
The stage is the most terrible freedom,
for you are free to feel and act,
as bold and as passionate,
as the script allows.
Yet, you are trapped,
within the same steps,
and the same words,
never to break free, and simply be.
Perhaps life shall find a way.
Slips through a stage door.
To become more then just,
A blank stage.
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