Forgotten Magic
The musty theater sleeps in revere,
Neon lights flashing one bulb out of three,
The carpet lies with lush gold and rich red,
Hammered flat by a long forgotten tread.
Dusty velvet curtains reveal the show
Summer audiences left long ago.
An old man gibbers, top hat faded tall,
Performing magic for a silent hall.
Lost coins scattered across the barren floor,
Conjured up once and remembered no more,
Dried flowers growing in castaway heaps,
And in the silence his voice croaks and creeps.
What he tries to summon is out of reach,
Laughing children to fill the empty seats.
Shannon Simpson