Wednesday Sonnet: The Actor to the Audience

When I still had the sunlight in my hair
I thought the gods of theatre had misspelt
My stage directions; was I Caesar’s heir?
I did not feel the quiet others felt
To still the drops of rage behind my head,
Nor was I ever known to pass unshaken
Those melancholic walls which stood like lead
Between the stage and backstage: was I craven?
Today I know the stage and back are one,
Their masks of private / public fold in me
Until I breathe the theatre’s dust, and run
Its Acts over my heart (as scenery).
I do not have the script to fight your jeers,
Young men: only these Apollonian tears.