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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