Was the wrong stage set beneath these feet?
All the unscripted acts, now performed,
but was the entrance mistimed?

Once, a meager mime graced the scene,
expressions neat, steps rehearsed,
a puppet bound to careful strings,
a character fit for all audiences.
Poised, polished, precise—
a show designed to please.

Now, a jekyll jester takes its place,
lips painted with reckless humor,
words spun like juggling pins,
falling in awkward places.

Punchlines miss their mark,
laughter echoes alone.

Missteps once brought fear,
so the scripted cues remained,
routine ensuring a place ahead
before the curtain call.

Now, an offbeat dance unfolds,
improvised lines fill the air,
a breathless chase through scenes
with no clear ending.

Sorrow once hid backstage,
sealed behind a practiced mask,
never seen beneath the paint.

Now, the heart takes center stage,
a tragicomedy in full display,
A jumbled mess of uncertainty,
but the applause never comes.

Joy was the chosen act,
yet joy is met with distance.
The absurd was embraced,
yet absurdity earns no encore.

Laughter rings, the fool plays on—
but the world does not laugh along.

So tell—
is freedom worth the empty seats,
the dance worth the fading light,
or should the mime have remained,
safe in a role that was never real?