by Nick Gisburne
Too terrified to stride across the stage
She cowers, in the clutches of a spell
Her panic is a crudely fashioned cage
A desolate, impenetrable cell
The curtain, that innocuous device
It seems may somehow shatter, or explode
Each tortured nerve, a prisoner of ice
Destroys the dream with which she is bestowed
She leaves the cluttered dressing room, distraught
A curse, a burden, fills her mind with fear
The beast, the demon she has always fought
She knows will never truly disappear
But waiting in the wings, at last, at night
She finds a place beyond the fear, the fright
