A feather cannot create me, yet it is seen in me; and it is me. What am I?

Take away the first and a problem you have Keep it and wipe your nose clean A version of this can cover a calve The last three can trigger a courtroom scene

I rise or fall without a sound, to hide what waits or what is found. On stages grand or windows wide, I choose what stays concealed inside.

I wear a smile but steal your trust, I promise gold, yet deal in dust. With fake words smooth, I take my share, Leaving victims in despair.

A grand display for peering eyes, a parade of sights that mesmerize. Frames hold the scene, reveal the stage, unveiling stories on life's vast page.