Fading Dynasty

She stands on a star-lit stage,

A silk dress flowing around her

Like ocean foam;

Light dances on her pale skin,

Making her ethereal.

Her chestnut eyes

Stare into nothingness,

As if searching for

Her ancestors long dead.

She is the last

Of a fading dynasty;

The muse of ghosts

And angels alike.

Beyond her gaze,

A curtain parts a

Coliseum of yellow eyes,

From a lone door

Shut tight from disuse.

Her carefree smile

Makes her seem oblivious

To the outside world;

Her whole existence,

Is wrapped up in living

For that single moment.

Though that hour

Has flown away from the present,

It is preserved in a simple

Image captured by mirror and light;

The night she gave

Her last performance,

And then slept an eternity

In the photograph she left behind.