All The World

Shakespeare took poetry to the stage
And left her there
Singing songs
In the fire of footlight candles

The stars, in the open air overhead
Danced
To be immortalized in words
With Kings and Queens
Vagabonds and fools
Stories to bard the ancient tongue

Now she bows to the curtain of another age
The taunts and jeers of a coarser crowd
The wisp of her hand still drawn upon the air
in graciousness
Her gown retreating to the shadows of the wings

The stillness lingers in an empty house
When all have left, the play is done
But in the darkness, a presence
The corner by the window
The starlight peering in

Listening
A dream held in wait
Till she return.

(Previously published in American Muse, Summer 2001, Issue 3)

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Comments (3)

Good! Excellent. Sometimes she'll peek in your window, or say 'Hi' on the stairwell. Sometimes she'll crawl into your bed and make you sweat in your dreams. Sometimes you don't know if you're pursuer or pursued Tell her she's beautiful, and then look the other way.
An hommage to our craft and its fruits juxtaposed by its position in colder world, appreciated by fewer and fewer. Beautifully done. The hope of the hopeless romantic.
Exquisite poem, cleverly done.