Feb 17
poem challenge: Comfort

Old Theatre

The back row of the old theater
Where the velvet chairs are mostly dust and the woodens arms are weary-wrought
Under carvings of trees that have lost all definition, carvings of eyes that I'll never see
Under lightbulbs that would welcome the hint of a flicker and old chandeleirs that have rusted alone
Where music cannot reach my heart and tutus cannot brush my eyes
Where anything and everything else has drifted off to sea