And when the last show has been done
And the curtain falls, one last time, on the night
And the stage, abandoned, except for those who
Lurk on the edges, undoing the glorious garb it wore
When, the people slowly pour out, in the
First great wave, than a trickle, as the flow
Is damned, in loud, then hushed riposte
If ever you could, hushed...
When only your other self, that wowed remains
Ethereal, formless on the emptied stage
You sigh.
The high, of having been that form
The regret of now leaving it behind
And always, the yearning.
Why did it have to end?
11 February, 2012
