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The Stage


            …And there I sat on the apron of the stage, staring into the empty house, and I knew why I was there, why it was a part of me, and why I was a part of it.  I knew that in that moment, even as I scanned the rows of empty seats, that some small child was watching, enthralled, as another like me performed, that some old man was crying as he saw his happy memories brought to life once more, and I knew that this was our purpose, that this was the reason for the existence of The Stage, and I began to speak to the soul of that old house, my voice echoing faintly off the walls, never knowing who might hear…


And so we come

To this place where we become

Something we are not

Where we know that none

Can touch us, for we are

The Stage—

We are

The people who create

What others now and shall ever see.


We are the passionate few—the passionate, brave few--

Who dare to quit the narrow scope

Of worldly life—who dare

To go beyond ourselves in our quests

For eternity.


We are The Stage, The Company, The World,

Who look out from our hollow realm

To see that sea of faces

And know that we—we The Stage—

Know more of life, of love, of war, of peace,

Of all things,

Than any of that mass of man can ever meet.

We, The Stage, do more than

Mere mortals can ever dream.

We perpetuate immortality,

Or we destroy it.

We elevate heroes,

We level villains to the rubble.

We raise empires,

Or we raze them.

We shape events as we see fit, and

We present those events, however we have seen them,

To our helpless audience, who can do nothing

But believe us.


We are The Stage, for we create its brief worlds.


The empty house is never closed,

Never dark,

Never dead.


We are The Stage, for we perpetuate its life.


So tonight, we perform…


And we know

Our performance

Is the truth

As it will be forever known.


            …So I looked once more, upon those empty rows, and I smiled at what was my soul, and I turned, slowly, to (exit, stage right)…


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Copyright ©2000 Adam Rutledge