The Chameleon blinked as he entered the stage br (A popular act for an insecure age) br They applauded him on from the roof to the floor br (a recent review had been almost a page) . br br He stood in the spotlight, a dignified green br The colour god made him – or so it would seem br The audience hushed for they knew what’s in store: br The master of image – the changeling supreme. br br He smiled at the gallery, bowed to the stalls br Took in with a grin those that stood by the wall br He managed a wink for the girl by the door br It was not the first time that he’d played in this hall. br br The silence was growing – the time was now right br For some fireworks (in colour) to light up the night br They needed some action – their lives were a bore br They’d paid just to sit there and drink in the sight. br br The Chameleon stood there - he just didn’t move. br Always before there’d been something to prove br He suddenly didn’t know what it was for: br The crowd and its power, and forgetting to love. br br They started to fidget, they started to shout br Throwing things of all colours that landed about br They hurled him abuse when they’d once called out ‘more! ’ br And some in the cheap seats began to go out. br br He felt for them, slightly. He’d not thought he’d dare br He’d hoped that they might not be quite so unfair br His heart knew he just wouldn’t do it no more br But somehow he’d hoped that some of them would care. br br * * * br br The chameleon looked at them straight in the eye br br And turned into a butterfly.