|
The One Act Play
by Steven Craig
This is where I came in. I sit in a solitary chair,
coat hung over my arm, hat now on my head. The lights
are lowering, the curtain is rising, and I am leaving.
I was an actor in a solitary act portrayed upon the stage.
It was so very real this time, so gripping, I seemed to live
the lines I spoke.
Yes! I was the actor and the character portrayed.
I was experiencing the words, the emotions, each report
of the feelings of the drama.
Opposite me, the leading lady, smiling, alluring, flatly
whispering words about love. She leads me on.
I remember the opening night, the continuous performances.
And the grand finale, the climatic rise of love and passions,
the joyous conclusion, and the curtain calls as they would have been.
At the door, I pause. Just now, the first kiss is portrayed again.
And there, I remember the bitter irony of the climax, the curtain
fall failing to cover the tears, the supreme fall of love.
The final lines she spoke echoes still in the hall above the stage
lights . . . . forever mingled with the dust, refuse of sagas . .
"I don't love you anymore."
The audience went wild, cheers spread across the stage,
rushed out of the doors. The leading lady was now a success,
much desired to star a part in other lives in other places, far away.
And she packed away each line that she had whispered to me,
to be used again in another act tomorrow.
Yes, I remember the One Act Play, a four year stand,
all of my very first love. But on the sidewalk in the rain,
I know that one act was enough.
07/21/2006 Posted on 07/21/2006
Copyright © 2024 Steven Craig
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 07/21/06 at 08:07 PM This was beautiful. Your underplay of the actual pain,while giving the story life in understatement leaves much to the mind of the reader to fill in. Beautiful. |
|
