Poetic-Verses

Curtains now drawn on a stage that's bare
a chandelier hangs but no lights are there,
crimson chairs are now tattered and torn
paint once golden flaking faded and worn.

Cobwebs sway from the beams overhead
pictures of actors that are long past dead,
dust now a carpet that blankets the floor
no usher to welcome as you enter the door.

A window high up stained dirty with age
a beam shines down towards the stage,
just for a moment a dark shadow is seen
a whisper heard where actors had been.

Listen real closely you may hear a cheer
the sound of clapping when actors appear,
thanking the audience each one and all
taking their bows for one last curtain call.








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An Old forgotten theatre.