Act One (The Scholar of Life- Opening Speech)

The love of life is a very beautiful and splendid thing. Regretfully, it’s something many fail to ever recognize. One day, I stopped to contemplate the beauty of compassion and forgiveness. This is where the true beauty of life is found. When we stop to recognize that personal feelings are less important than the feelings we are able to create in others, then we have started to embrace the true beauty of life. To our lives poetry is a beautiful gift from God. It enables us to step out of our external surroundings and into a beautiful place, which of course, is the place known as our soul. From its depths we start to realize the true power that is found in words. Words have the ability to create feelings in others. Words can open eyes to see the beauty that has not yet been seen. Words can take us on journeys to places unknown. Open our minds to philosophical views,which had previously never been contemplated. Thus, leading us into a world, which has never been seen through our eyes. We are poets, children of God, creators of feelings, and scholars of life. It is only from the bottom of the well that we learn to truly embrace and understand the warmth and brightness of the sun. It is only from the top of the mountain that we are able to understand the darkness that lie in the back of the cave. Until our soul has been emptied we never fully appreciate what it means for it to be full. Words are no less than the knife we can use to slice open the cake of life. Thus, enabling us to share pieces of ourselves. What truly matters in this life is the fact that we are able to share and give a little piece of ourselves. True success can only be measured in our ability to share our experiences in life. Thus, enabling others to feel and experience the depths of our knowledge. This is our gift and we should understand the depth of its responsibility. We should all vow to enhance our gift to the best of our abilities. We all have so much to learn and such little time with which to learn it. At the end of the play, as the stage dims and the curtains fall, I leave the theater. Outside, alone at the corner I realize; sometimes I feel like a blind man standing at a crossroad in the fog. Shuddering at the thought, I tighten my coat and walk quietly down the dimly lit street of remorse. I have no idea if this is correct but I did enjoy myself. For Constance's contest. ps. I have reset these lines many times but they keep moving when I save the poem. I guess its a poem anyhow. If it happens again I apologize.