Bathed in misty fire glow,
It slowly slips out of character
Before the end of the days performance


Cloaks of grey cloud hang
Like attendants in the wind
Waiting to gently spread their arms,
And signal that the evening
Is on it's way.


Bur first, the reddened artist
Peeks from between the dusty layers
And makes a final curtain call,
Warming to the smiles of the audience
Bathed in it's glory.


Then it bids farewell,
And slides backstage to rest awhile,
Until dawn heralds
Another golden monologue.


© 1991

◄ A Memory

The pain of separation ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message