Remembering Radio Drama

The static crackle, a prelude in the air, A world unseen about to bloom right there. That old wood radio, a centerpiece so grand, Where voices gathered from a distant land. No pictures needed, no visual display, Just sound and story stealing you away. The creaking door, the whispered urgent plea, Imagination painted what you couldn't see. The hero's booming voice so brave and strong, The villain's sinister, drawn-out wicked song. The damsel's cry, a shiver down your spine, Each character crafted in a sonic line. Sound effects, a magic all their own, Hoofbeats clattering, a distant telephone. The rustling leaves, a sudden sharp gunshot, Building tension hitting just the right spot. Families gathered 'round in twilight's gentle hush, Suspended in the drama, a collective rush Of fear or laughter, sorrow or delight, Bound by the airwaves in the fading light. The announcer's voice so smooth and full of grace, Leading you onward at a measured pace. Sponsor's messages, a familiar jingly rhyme, A backdrop to the stories marking passing time. Those weekly episodes, a ritual so dear, A shared experience year after passing year. The cliffhangers dangling till the following week, Leaving you breathless, secrets yet to speak. Now screens illuminate with vibrant moving scenes, But nothing matches those old radio dreams. That theater of the mind where shadows danced and played, A nostalgic echo, a memory that's stayed. ©bfa040625