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[I]The Chorus
The soft lamenting voices and the sorrowful hum
The rhythmic beat of the ancient drum.
The echoed laughter
The inaudible chatter.
The mournful wail
A cloth transforms magically into a sail.
What of these strikes YOU the most?!
Of no soliloquies surely can I ever boast.
Yet, there I am, without me, the stage is bare
Every element of my movement is thought out with care.
My guise takes on various forms
I am the serene calm or the tempest in storms.
Fate is my ally and her presence I always mark
I am hidden in amongst the shadows, swallowed by the dark.
As the plot unravels, my reactions I do declare
Pathos. Pity. Terror. Joy. Longing and even despair.
I echo YOUR reaction to the unfolding plot
Without me, there is very little else to be got.
See the water as I unfurl the blue cloth and make it sway?
See the black cloud unmasked into another day?
I can be the weather – a crowd – or the ocean’s spray.
Listen to my voice as I sing, laugh, cry or pray.
I will take my bow now as another end is before us
And now you know my name – I am the CHORUS.[/I]
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