Dark of Day

In the dark of day There comes a cold wind Rustling through shattered leaves. The depth of this blank, useless time Sharply contrasts with the reality That exists in the mind of the actor On his private stage. Memory seeps from hidden recesses Twisting and shaping the performance Giving the player emotions from within But not always controllable memories They do get away and carry beyond. So in this darkness The cold wind in the day Blowing and scattering the dead tree matter A lone player stands on an isolated stage Playing his part with repressed memory Surfacing in front of a passing audience.