Did they believe? I wonder.
Or do they also feel this way?
Was their act as good as mine?
Did we both do it for their mother?
Did they all just do it for
Were we all pretenders,
acting on our grandparents stage,
on the same platform that they too danced upon
for the greats?
And did we dance.
Amateur, at best.
But speaking amongst ourselves, old pros.
The answers for our children, robotic.
But there was music in our prose.
Rhythm that followed the notes
of those who recited The Way to us.
I wonder what they thought.
Were they at ease with their deception?
On their deathbed
did they wish to set us straight?
Did we dance for nothing?