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eyes

eyes

eyes hold you there
applause subsides
auditorium empties

another night
another show
whispers heard backstage

stage door creaks on
rusted hinges --
opening, allows players' exit

alleyway awake with footsteps
summer moths flutter naked light-bulbs
on aging brick walls -- casting eerie shadows

shuffle a dozen shoes
to street beyond
on the way for a coffee or drink

aura of performance just played fades --
just ahead of lightning and thunder
actors reach the street

sky opens -- pours rain
midnight is close to its autonomy --
to a new day -- time propels itself

no one knows to what end --
perhaps better that way --
performers step in -- late night diner

order drinks
and are silent
watching patrons of other parties

eyes hold them there
looking for answers to the comedy
without discovering one.

vcp

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Editing stage: 

Comments

Rosina,

From what you just said, you have had an acting roll; I mean, hell, life is an acting roll. I know a bit about tipples myself, dear.

Love,

Victor

"When a pickpocket meets a holy man all he sees are his pockets."

Unknown (at least to me)

author comment

I like the fact that you took the actor from the stage and made them the audience, watching the actors of life, and seeing life as a comedy. I never looked at it that way. great idea. this was well staged and choreographed by you.
I truly liked it.
Always Eddie

LIFE ISN'T ABOUT WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS
IT'S ABOUT LEARNING HOW TO DANCE IN THE RAIN.
VIVIAN GREENE

Eduardo,

I thought I would give the actors a chance to be the observers. It's all audience and players anyway, so I figured why not . . .

Thank you very much for the read and comment.

Victor

"When a pickpocket meets a holy man all he sees are his pockets."

Unknown (at least to me)

author comment

Today’s topic
Coincidentally appears to be
One all for the eyes,
The world of Nobel
Did in standing ovation rise,
When for a second time
In standing ovation,
They all did rise
Kings and Queens too
In salutation
Of a Nobel peace prize winner,
Rotting in apt abandon
Some millions miles in a dungeon

The world is wrought
With senseless beings,
They killed Jesus
For his intelligence and benevolence

So I feel and see history repeat it
Such repetition is not alien,
Its very much Earthman,
So is your poem
Worthy of the silent standing ovation,
As the curtain falls
All vanish into oblivion
Including you
One who also did receive
A standing ovation!

loved

Loved,

Thank you so much~! Your responses fall into a singular category, and are at first flummoxing, but on closer inspection are really quite unique and personalized. What fun they are.~~!

Victor

"When a pickpocket meets a holy man all he sees are his pockets."

Unknown (at least to me)

author comment

Thank you, Shirley.

Nice to see you again. I tried for the haunting sense in this one. I guess it worked.

Love,

Victor

"When a pickpocket meets a holy man all he sees are his pockets."

Unknown (at least to me)

author comment
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