The curtain has closed,
the play now finished.
A sigh emerges,
the audience diminished.
The theatre is swept,
no memories remain.
A script once held excitedly
falls to the floor in vain.
Walls once lit,
now stained and peeling.
This old theatre
is lacking so much feeling.
Where laughter once resided,
there is now silence.
The applause was calmed—
part of Death’s compliance.
Seats once red
Are fading and stained.
Everyone’s giving up—
Old days not regained.
The lights dimmed,
I return for a last glance.
Nothing remains,
Fate’s not giving another chance.
It’s too late—
a lit stage now black.
Nothing can restore the essence
Death made you lack.
It's a rough draft. I didn't edit it or anything.
2007-07-08
12:55:16
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10 answers
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asked by
Savannah
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in
Poetry