Final Curtain

Life’s opening night

 Began as a shadow in the wings,

A boy with borrowed lines,

His debut,

A walk-on in

Someone else’s creation,

A parental obedient token

A line.

Attention gathering of bright lights

Ended up too bright then,

A staging too wide,

Too deep,

Applause of meager sound,

But enough to create greater reach

For his next test of courage.

His inclusion in growth’s second act

Allowed the discovery of rhythm with

His first extended family,

Bringing on a harmony of youth and yearning,

Where every cue resounded like prophecy,

And the drama of becoming became

The only blueprint script that held credence.

Life’s spotlight arced,

A principal role,

A ceremonious ring,

A vow,

A duet performed with hope.

Years passed in crescendos and silences,

Reaching the final scene of unanticipated tragedy,

Closing without a kiss,

But with the quiet fall of a curtain,

Not clapped for,

The silence feeling permanent.

His middle age arrived…

And with it a demanding,

but seasoned Controller of this advancing new drama,

Directing the experience with generous options for success

Or failure.

He was offered many parts,

The father,

The friend,

The fool,

Manipulating his being as hero in some scenes,

Villainous in others,

Creating fanfare in each entrance,

Each bow of humble gratitude

Met with a calliope of applause

By those witnessing,

Loving,

Envying,

Or appallingly wanting him to stumble,

To forget his expression in words.

Yet…

There were standing ovations from admirers,

And there were empty seats of disinterest

As he learned to share his ability with both.

Still…

He had to accept that time,

Life’s ruthless critic,

Stopped attending the aging drama,

Contemporary aspects of growing

Passed him by.

What came his way

Were experiences he knew too well.

Fresh maturity concepts grew thin,

Opportunities waned,

Life’s stage-lights dimmed

As he clung to his patience

While standing in the shadows

Of curtains drawn.

Long walks allowed him to speak to himself

The many roles he had experienced,

Wanting but one last chance,

Not for fame,

But for truth.

Finally…

When it came,

It wasn’t a new role to play out,

But a reckoning.

No lines to gather, learn and memorize,

No change of costuming wardrobe to wear.

Just a man,

Standing tall,

As Life’s houselights dimmed

For the final bow,

Not one of a falling curtain,

But of one rising up above the catwalk,

Through the ceiling of cover and safety

Into an open universe of imagination,

Into silence,

Into the stillness of completion,

Into the gentle echo of every role he experienced

On his personal stage,

His openings,

His closings,

His final curtain.