The theater wears a cloak of shadow
save for the holes where light can enter.
The twin doors open with a queit protest
and I enter the chamber,
hoping to unveil its secrets.
The foyer greets me
at its frayed carpet and cracked tile edge.
Tan walls are scarred by poster marks, faded and forgotten.
The glass boxes entice me
with their lies of salt, illuminated.
Carpet, heavily trod upon, suffocates the cement below.
A wind whistles through the building.
Its spirit whispers of hauntings, of memories, of tragedy.
I peer around the corner into the room
where giant screens once ruled each night.
The blackness counsumes the space,
as if the show is about to begin.
The seats are filled with visions of elegant people,
high classed couples,
wealthy young men in pursuit of love.
One of the women looks intently at me,
expressionless save for her transparent stare.
The wind ruffles my hair.
I don't belong here.
Striding swiftly out of the theater,
I know I will return,
but not today.
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