A Poem – The Fall and Rise of the Curtain

Happy Wednesday! I hope if you’re reading this you have a blessed and wonderful day. Each day is a gift, and I firmly believe that. Given that I’ve been more wrapped up in writing prose these past months, my poetry pace has definitely slackened, but I figured I’d share one which I actually tinkered with for a few weeks. That’s a little out of character, but who’s to say an old dog (thirty) can’t sniff out a few new tricks. The scheme on this one is ABBA, just like the disco group, and pertains to endings and beginnings! (As an aside, I once wrote an acrostic poem in ABBA, where the first letter of each line all the way down spelled out DANCING QUEEN.)

The Fall and Rise of the Curtain

The bows have all been taken.
The scarlet roses thrown.
The players wingward since have flown
And left the stage forsaken.

The bowstrings long since brandished.
The horns no longer blown.
A wand of silver lies alone—
Its maestro long since vanished. 

The spotlights aren't pointed—
The pointers are asleep.
And cavernous the silence deep
Is holy and anointed.

The orchestra is empty.
The mezzanine as well.
Upon the balcony none dwell
And none is more than plenty. 

The velvet curtain swallows 
What soon again will be.
And soft a stillness stretches free—
That hush which grandeur follows.

And as these things are certain:
The solitude and rest, 
Afresh the players all will dress
And stand behind the curtain.

The orchestra then crowded.
So too the mezzanine.
The balcony with faces teems:
Their neutral masks enshrouded. 

The spotlight without luster
With bright-white light will gleam
And illustrate within its beam
Revenge or love or bluster.

The strings will raise their voices!
Hear golden trumpets blown!
A silver flourish guides the tone,
A host in turn rejoices!

The theatre is dimming!
The acts are underway!
The aftermath of any play
Winds back to the beginning!