F is for Finale

F is for Finale

The curtain draws to a close,
the stage lights dimmer,
the audience slowly leaves,
their trash litter the aisles,
and all the performers are gone.
Up in the rafters the pigeons are roosting,
the petals from the flowers thrown,
are swept up and tossed out,
with the career of a lifetime.
The weather outside is cold,
enough to see the breath before your face,
walking alone like every other night,
no exceptions to this.
A card in your hands,
such fine scrawlings,
but the words are wicked,
they lash against the toungue as you read to yourself.
Life is but a play,
we are simply performers for a larger power,
and one player has been cut from the cast forever,
left behind the curtain,
never to take a bow,
never to see the crowd,
never to be under the spotlight.
Upon a chair he stands,
waiting for the hush of anticipation,
the murmurs dying down slowly,
the noose in place,
a graceful leap,
completing the best performance.
A smile on the face of the performer,
and he can hear the applause,
seeing the curtain drawing,
a perfect finale for one to accomplish,
and the crowd shouts,
ENCORE!

 

Reviews

[Ali]

this is really interesting, I normally don't like poems like this but you have made me. I can't wait to read more of your work.