The theatre we shared was hot,
humid and dark.
The people were varied.
Youth, malleable, unknowning, eager for
Something More.
Age, solid, self-proclaimed as open minded,
expectant of Nothing Less.

The night was cold and as we entered
layers were stripped away,
cautiously, casually,
as if
exposing the insecurities, of so many years
unseen before.

Our voices were lost among a thousand others,
but we shouted just as loud. We will be heard.
He hears us through the music.
Moves among us, or so they say.

They tell so many things
we already know.

And we have our own language.
Communicate by touch alone.
Impulse compulsory,
meaning optional.
So we hide behind the scenes,
holding hands.

His children.

We left that night filled with Spirit,
and a new reason
to lie awake at night.