Let’s watch the face
reel a performance,
each hand a shadow,
each word a myth warm
underneath stage lights.
The seats are silent.
An aging thespian,
but tonight is his
debut, again. Oh,
the fire he had lent
to the air that night.
Theater’s empty
Except for the man
on a stage that is
his. Doesn’t need us
for a monologue,
but the lights remain,
watching the air fall.
Written for Saturday Mix.
I like this. Walking onto an empty stage of theatre gone dark, the play may be done, but to a thespian the show ever goes on.
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Thanks for the comment. I’m glad you liked it.
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Evocative writing. Nicely done!
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Thank you!
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Nicely penned! Certainly revealed a story! Thanks for joining in the Saturday Mix 😊
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No problem. It’s an interesting form. Thank you.
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I wish it were all our debuts again. ❤️ the poem!
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Thank you.
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Love the poem, and so miss the theater.
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Thank you!
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