POSTLUDE

The last show is over. The screen blank.

All the words, laughter, colours, songs,

Glitz, glam and melodramatic emotions

Are over. No more love. No more pain.

The screen shall blank forever remain.

Phrases, lines, promises and catches

Of songs replay themselves in the black.

And the flashback starts with a jerk

Behind closed eyes. The voices heard

For the last time, resound and doze off.

A glass of wine held in cold hands

Trembles with unfulfilled hopes,

Aspirations false. Darkness clouds in.

The colourless poison mixes well

Drop by drop

Into the lusty red wine and

Disappears in the taste of wasted grapes.

The hall is large and dark and empty.

The chairs are where people have been.

The steps to the podium rise and go

Nowhere but sigh at the nothingness.

The screen is blank, dark and wears

A dark mourning shroud. Silence.

Eyes close and the icy cold air enters

The nostrils in a long long breath and soothes

The burning skin and inflamed insides.

Promises and dreams break away like

Shattered glass. And a salty drop

Plops into the still wine and dissolves.

Lips touch the cold edge of the crystal wineglass.

And sip it in as do the eyes of a lover drink his

Beloved’s face with a strange yearning

And smear her face with love dreamt and discarded.

The final dreg and a kiss on the edge are all

That shall remain, as remembrance and signs

Of a forgotten tomorrow, a forgotten love

And an intoxicated belief of peace in death.