My audience,
Not for the most part educated,
In poetry,
Iambic pentameter,
Odes,
Sonnets,
Ballads,
These are all things,
From a past,
When books were the domain,
Of the educated elite.
Who would bother,
Nowadays,
To fathom metaphors,
And similes,
Or even symbolism.
It’s an ancient art,
A cultural activity,
Better left to the audiences,
Of the Globe.
They lived in the world of words,
And imagination.
There was no TV,
No films or Internet.
There was just the power of words,
And costume,
And the special effects,
Of a lightning bolt,
And darkness and light,
And music.
But people knew their poetry,
The actors knew their poetry,
It was a simple escape,
From the rats,
And the plague,
And the death,
That surrounded them.
The imagination lifts people,
It offers an escape.
It attracts people,
It creates Gods,
It gives us purpose,
It sets us free,
And some things,
Never change.