It watches, a silent stage
The curtain rises on your fateful day,
No claps, no sighs, no words of praise
The world gives nothing but your days.
You trip, you fall, you scrape your knee,
It watches, whispers but does not weep.
For doors stay closed unless you turn
Those gold brass handles you always yearn.
No expectations of joy or loss,
No lines, no songs nor timely prompts
You write your scenes and cast your play
The world has no part and nothing left to say.
Neither friend and neither foe but
A wooden floor you scratch with your toe.
Leave your mark and wonder how
The world drops its curtains as you take your bow.