So this is the day that I so dreaded?
Feared, repulsed and held in awe so?
Is this what it was all about?
This dais? This theater where I feel the walls grow?
And you my dear lord; yes, you who stand above.
And watch the show in silence.
Never cry, never applaud,
not even scream at all the gore and violence!
And you say you hold
the right to pass judgement on me?
While you are just a critic
of an art that strives to break free
of the shackles
that this absurd audience puts on me.
It laughs when I am uncertain
and applauds when I present a tragedy.
Why should I hear their bickering?
Why? Why indeed!
Why should I even fear your judgement my lord?
Tell me, why? I plead.
Your name is enough to cause wars.
Your existence a debate.
Should the fear that you instill,
be the one that decides my fate?
Should you not be appreciating
whatever it is that I do?
Be not the critic but the director
and see that I act my role through.
But you choose to sit not nigh but high.
To pass a judgement. To tell me my end.
So I tell you lord, strike upon me with your verdict.
But until I get off the stage I shalt not bend.
