"When the Angels Call" by Tony Zurlo

I often wonder about dying.

The stage lures and terrifies,

Fire and ice on the same night.

Play it safe and finish,

play it with a flare,

shame or fanfare?

Will there be a dress rehearsal?

Will angels from above prompt me

if I drop a line or miss a cue?

Will there be time? Time 

to learn my blocking? Time

to practice lines with friends?

If I hesitate will I be snatched

away to audition for the 

Devil's dance with the dead?

Long decades of conflict, 

complication, crisis, and resolution 

are essential to pull off a proper dying.

Anything shorter than three acts

would be undignified. Who ever heard

of a hero expiring in the first act?

What about applause and curtain calls?

Angels fancy encores don’t they? Perhaps 

Hamlet’s soliloquy: “To be or not to be.”

It’s enough to frighten one to death,

this idea of dying before the chance

to practice and master the part.