Unscripted Night: A Poem by Stephen Roach

Not only are we artists, but we are art

sculpted of love,

and brought forth to reflect, to resound, to embody 

the beauty that bore the world.

with roots, dug deep in solitude enmeshed within the web of all that we see,

and all that is seen,

we become the blood and flesh of dreams.

composed of light and shadow of stillness and motion 

Flung forward from the womb of life like the Stardust we are,

and we are the resonance of unscripted night 

lost between laughter, and lament 

of eternal gain 

of time spent 

the self we see 

the self we dream

the self You imagined us to be