The Empty Stage

The empty stage, bathed in cold, spotlight grace,

A vacant canvas, where dreams used to chase.

Each creak of the floorboard, a whisper of ghosts,

Of applause long faded, forgotten boasts.

Dust motes dance in the abandoned air,

Echoes of laughter lost in shadows bare.

Props stand silent, memories they silently hold,

Of stories untold, left incomplete and cold.

A single spotlight spills through a dusty pane,

Illuminating fragments of what might have been, in vain.

The curtain hangs limp, a symbol of finality,

Sealing the fate of an unfulfilled entity.

But wait, a whisper on the wind, a glimmer unseen,

A yearning for rebirth, a stage forever green.

For even empty stages, once filled with light,

Can hold the promise of stories, waiting to take flight.

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