PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Dead air - a gasp of breath
Dust and paint chips inhale, coat my throat
Chill ice air suspended in cobwebs
a solitary light standing alone center stage
an audience of ghosts; a quiet moment
I walk amongst the vast death, sleeping
Solace in a dead Cathedral

I spent my youth in a theatre that was also an office building. The chairs were maroon, pleather, and we hid in the cubicles. The basement was haunted and the greenroom was black and covered in mirrors. The carpet was 80's and everyone played card games. I left for other theaters and came back a few years later to work of the crew, fly's. The kids were doing 'The Little Princess' and the sound board left to go have sex in the light booth. It was torn down a year later. People took pieces of the walls, leather and glass, but I wasn't there.

Sitting and living in possibility
Stealing the moments only experienced by myself
I watched the light, nothing to refract on,
The dust carries the light only a few inches
I walk amongst the ghosts and moments
Silence and the symphony of possibility
Quiet still reflection
The rows of plastic and velvet
Sitting in the dark

I spent my youth in an opera house. Their was art and decorum... substance...history. The stage door led to the parking lot. The stairs led to the basement, the children's greenroom, it was an old KMBC News room and the green screen was still painted on the walls, the lights scattered. I ate salads with lemon juice, kombucha and falafels. The adult singers would come, hungover and curse and joke. It was sold four years later when they built the Kauffman. It wasn't torn down just boarded up. Old opera posters still hang in the forgotten facade under dirt and drywall, water stains.

Echoing whispers wishing ash blue
The meaning of passion and burnt glass
Existence and chills
In the time alone the stolen secrets
Dead air, I breathe, I'm home