The Play's The Thing

So, after taking a van full of students down to see a performance of Macbeth at the Shakespeare Festival in Cedar City, Utah, here's a theatrically themed sonnet:

The Play's The Thing
by Gideon Burton


With humid breath, with labored lungs and heart
Awash in sticky sweat and flush with heat,
Gray language finds its colors in your art;
The slack of time grows taut within your beat.
It is a bare occasion, yet you dance;
You fight with pricking foil in blazing peace.
Your anger rouses, given half a chance;
Brute passions flare, then mollify with ease.
I am compelled; each footfall keeps the eye.
You enter, exit, silent in the wings,
Then bursting forth, you laugh or you may die;
Perhaps some music rises as you sing.
        Play on, for your performance I attend;
        The play’s the thing that’s caught me in the end.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - balbano