A silent stage ignored by the crowd, their murmured voices building loud.
As dust flakes meanders the dimmed light, witnesses to forthcoming delight
This silent rain that glints the scene, as it falls from above to land between
Artist and pundit, the real and magic. Masking the twins comedy and tragic.
The lights fade down a spotlight appears, delight is released, pent up for years.
Orchestra applauded they set the tone, the heartfelt drum a brassy trombone.
Wind section, brass, drums and strings, a wizards touch the conductor brings.
Actors, dancers enhance the scenes, through tears, songs and laughter’s screams.
The finale call the deserved bows are won, with memories flared as songs re sung.
Writers, directors relive their work reborn, while awaiting the critic’s chilly morn.
The front of house crews clear and prepare, like shadows you forget they are always there
Setting the theatre to rally the cause, all served with a smile but never applause.
And the back stage warriors in the wings and flies that run the show dressed in disguise.
Each and all a performer in all they do and appear, rarely rewarded with a, “thank you dear.”
Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2016