Curtain Down

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)