By ghost light, the lonely stage is lit,
no one is there it is lit for ghosts alone,
all of the actors are hiding from the stage,
people in crowds are shunned,
the era is one of fear,
so no one even there comes near,
only the ghost of productions past are there.

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Empty of its audience, red, plush velvet seats;

Sorrowful, in mourning.

No more echoes of applause,

the opening of a grandeur curtain,

Just a ghostly appearance,

Breathing in the past.

Dusty stage lights,

Cobwebbed orchestra,

Costumes bleeding out their vibrany; silently decaying.

What do you call a stage

without a captivating drama?

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