((Hullo, everyone!  I’ve popped in for a brief visit from ffn, as this isn’t fanfiction.  My first poem on fpc!  Imagine that.  I hope you like it.))

Curtain Call

Backstage, I can hear

the scratching of the divine feather-quills,

tracing out ebon staves and silver scales,

crimson notes and amber verse.

The curtain’s rising on the final act of this

shadow-scripted masterpiece,

audience seated, attentive, expectant,

orchestra tuned, chorus standing.

Watching now, my bright composers?

Waiting in the wings with roses

or are You just tapping ink against Your parchment

waiting,

waiting for my last aria?

And I, Your diva, Your leading lady,

Your fated heroine.

How I came to be Your prima donna

is beyond my reasoning but to-night

there is no understudy.

The stage waits empty for one voice,

the name on the lips of thousands is mine.

Just mine.

So what now, cherie?  No turning back to-night.

Straighten your shoulders, smooth your skirts,

string your tears on a chain

 and clasp them for diamonds round your neck,

paint your smile on,

lift your head and don’t look down.

Don’t let them see you trembling.

Don’t let them hear your pain.

To-night is yours.

The curtain’s rising, limelight beckons.

There’s my cue.

Hear it now, Your twilight symphony

rising like the tide.

Across the waters and through the storm

I shall go, and stand till the final ovation.

Can You hear me, your lost protégée,

– don’t You love this opera?