Best Poems Written by Owen Williams

The Auditorium

Behind the theatre's foyer,                                                                                                        the blackness of the empty auditorium beckons.                                                                                  Once inside we sense its eerie ambiance.                                                                                                    It is steeped in residues of the esoteric.                                                                                                   A multitude of shadows hide behind the tabs and traverse.                                                                  The charged emotions of actors                                                                                                              now perpetually ‘resting’                                                                                                                        and jaunty melodies of a pantomime long forgotten,                                                                       ooze every crevice and crack.                                                                                                          A phantom audience take their seats                                                                                                     which creak and groan.                                                                             

“We can never be alone in here”.                                                                                 

I flick a switch,                                                                                                                                   the stage floods with a dazzling brilliance.                                                                                                The dead flee to the wings.                                                                                                                  dust particles rise like missed cues,                                                                                                  and twirl and wheel around the lights and ropes,                                                                                 but can never escape this realm of lost soliloquies.                                                                              I turn off the lights                                                                                                                             and the stage is plunged                                                                                                                        into the foreboding darkness once again.                                                                                              The dust settles,                                                                                                                                  slowly the ghosts emerge to rehearse their lines                                                                                 and an invisible audience returns to rustle programs                                                                                of a melodrama performed over a century ago.

We take our leave,                                                                                                                                               the auditorium heaves a heavy sigh                                                                                                     and awaits another last night.

Copyright © Owen Williams | Year Posted 2021