I look at the stage.
Bare. Empty.
No colour. No music.
The theatre.
The seats.
All dusty for years of neglect.
The curtains are torn.
Cobwebs. Everywhere.
They hug the blackened statues.
Caress the ceiling.
Beautiful glass windows.
Shattered.
The spotlight.
The light that once shone.
On a masquerade. A party. A lovers kiss. A death.
Scenes of dancers.
Ballets. Duets. Songs. Poems.
A light that has seen a thousand years.
No more.
I weep.
I weep for the theatre.
For every person who has come through the doors.
Women in dresses and men in suits.
All forget the theatre.
I sit on the steps of the condemned building.
The ruin of architecture.
It was once grand.
No more.
By Leon
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