Crossed by an array of colors, the air becomes viable
where velveteen curtains sweep open to eager faces,
wardrobes on standby, now fading in damp places
_♀_
Midnight's mistress penciling shadowy figures
from discarded masks inside dressing rooms
where porcelain faces touch fading blooms
_♀_
Echoes hang silently within threaded cobwebs
of hushed voices, wilted laughter and wooden floors
Thespians walk away from their once opened doors
_♂__♀_
Dramatis personae writes tomorrow's obituary
Columns of sequined dresses trace tattered pages
of acts one and two - now derelict the stages
_♀__♀_
The King and I once met The Phantom of the Opera
Mannequins, staring through painted tears
Upon resplendent stages, ovations and loud cheers
_♀_
