grayness

Act None

In parts and places partly scattered-
Reminders of the things that mattered...
Or matter yet, for nothing's certain:
We lack in act, and scene, and curtain.
Our writer's drunk, or lost, or mad
And we the actors have been had-
Left to face the lights alone
With our lines and cues unknown.
And I would tear this stage apart,
And cease to strut or fret my part
But when I might rage, this much is true:
I like the role that's played by you.