The Artist?

How kind must He be
To bestow upon us the passion of art
That occurs so rare and scarce plainly
For all of it burgeons from heart.

My art lets me wear the person,
Bear the emotions that he carry.
It lets many a mind abode in one
All of which beatify me.

Reigning the stage steps fear
Ceases all before a start,
Filling then the soul it does tear
Vehemently and kill my art.

Dreaming I climb up on the stage
And I act caring none the fall.
To the climax we edge
Then I raise the hand and feel the applause.