Please forgive me for the empty pillow,
were the breath lay me down to sleep
now a shadow of ghost in silhouette
with no time for Macbeth
as dust gathers on the cold sheets
the night walks through empty rooms
with memories of Shakespeare
an echoes never spoken
with no applause for tragedy
the candle burns down to nothing
as the last actor steps into the dark
the velvet curtain turns to dust
as the script dissolves into photographs
of the frames held only by shadows
the gallery is completely still…
faces turned to pale
