He was a one man play,
The limelight was his passion,
The audience was his trickery,
The play a wash of life,

His costume was stitched in gold,
His steps well practiced,
His words were always meant to be,
His breathing crafted,

Master of faces and stage makeup,
A well-tuned actor,
An oiled machine,
A character that never broke,

But when the lights when down,
And his stage was empty,
I waited backstage,
For his character to fade,

When the makeup smeared,
And the costume ripped,
Steps faltered, voice broke,
All it took was a hand,

The man I knew,
Was deep inside,
He acted every day,
A well practiced face,

For I knew a man,
Hidden in his acting,
I saw his sweet and loving care,
Much different from his outer wear,

He never performed on Broadway,
Or on a stage of that sort,
Instead he put his play,
On the stage of life,

Even when his show faltered,
They never failed to see,
The man on stage,
And not the one beneath.

~FlyandFall