The Director

Looking out through the panes of the window of time The curtains pulled back by a sad aging mime actors and actresses; (there was no lack) The production confusing and hard to keep track I saw them performing on a huge outdoor stage, confusion depicted the set; every age Directors were calling, (there was way more than one) The stage was lit up by the light of the sun Pages were flying, soiled and ripped, Mixed up in the wind of many a script The characters played, but no one was certain, Confusion and chaos met my eyes past the curtain While actors tried grasping at whirling pages A few were quite lucky to find words of wise sages Whirlwinds - dust devils muted the words While clashing directives decried wisdom absurd I noticed tears falling on smiling stars Butterflies netted and placed in glass jars I saw one young actress, taking a bow, A standing ovation her performance allowed Then a Great Hand unlatched the stage door to her cage She smiled and blew kisses, exiting the stage Far above all the voices and chaos supreme Above every order, each directive scream She heard a small whisper echo in her heart "I'll take it from here, you can have a new part" She reached for the script that was His, every word Past the stage of confusion and all the absurd Penned of the ending each act of the stage Beginning to end, His pen on each page. A wedding was coming The guests would all dine She read, of His great book, line upon line Curtains will close on sad scenes of this stage The actors and actresses will bow, every age The Director of true Peace, will one day end strife A new day will dawn Of eternal life All of the chaos and divisive noise, Hushed by Love's whisper, The Director's voice. Looking back from the panes of the window of time The curtains were closing But as for the old mime A window was opening From heaven above And now the mime basked in directives of love