5-1-05
I love the silence of an empty stage
after the plays are done, while people sleep;
I consume the silence of this heavy serenity,
of it all being done and gone, done and gone everywhere,
and the stage now breathes and sleeps,
breathes and sleeps,
empty of the melodramatic tap-dances,
the brew of emotions that dam from this spot,
hollow of the suffering and joy and
empty, it’s sooo empty, of the thick and sticky life-syrup.
I see an empty stage, and I see what death is,
a lack of fighting, a lack of winning and losing,
growing and shrinking, loving and killing,
though the ghosts of this place
sing always.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 205