The Stage

This stage holds art and creation.

It called me then and it calls me still.

It holds my passion. Hopes. Dreams. 

It’s a risk ​they repeat.

Are you sure you don't want another job ​they taunt.

They come at me with their passions repressed and

fading like a dying ember.

The tense mummified drudges try to

conform me to be a nine-to-fiver. They try 

to blow out the fire of passion. However

through the rain the fire remained and

spread like wildfire through my veins.

They tried to take the stage from me but failed

for the stage​ ​is my home and the art is in my veins.