I. She looks out at the darkness Extending past the spotlights Beyond she can hear chattering Clinking cups and shuffling chairs Impatient throat-clearing waiting Taking a big step she walks out Stepping out onto the stage Grasping the microphone in hand Breathing it smells like stale coffee Breaking her concentration Forgetting words so well rehearsed II. Bored he brings his cup to his lips Ceramic filled with hot coffee Searching the stage with his eyes In the shadow of the curtains She twists like a leaf in a storm That awaits the hurricane As she moves to take the stage The light above sets her a flame Like an angel ascending From heaven he can't be seen He can see her sad searching eyes Somewhere untouchable a soul moves III. Her tongue gone dry wets itself On words that come automatic Recalling poems about love Overcoming all obstacles Set against a metaphor Of a windmill at sunset Painted red like the passion Of lovers who are dispersed Seeking each other blinded By the mundanity of the world IV. All the world is in darkness Except the seraphim on stage Weaving sounds that are impression Lost of intrinsic meaning Other than that they came from her Her singing soulful voice weaving A tapestry of images With just the painting of her words Until the stage at last goes dark She having left taking light with her V. Hand to chest she feels her heart slow The launching of her words complete Into the world where they were caught With strangers hands applauding Fading away she hears a voice Love is a many splendid thing In the dark a light attaches To a still clapping for her She feels all the things she's written Holding her heart in his smile
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