Curtain Down

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the stage is dark
barren
my footsteps echo
hollowly
no one hears
but me
the swish of a broom
melodic
constant
the janitor bids goodnight.

i sit at the mirror
a face looks back
with tired eyes
hears the voices
that matched the faces
laughing voices silent now
faces detached
drifting
to their final resting place
in the twi-lit coffin of memory.

i step into the night
cold air
gently close the door
the lock clicks
quietly
like the latch on my brittle heart.

(Previously published in Wings, Aug.1999; The Poet’s Porch, Oct.2001)

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