There it was - Among lost flowers And drained cups of espresso. Among corrupt cabinets, And torrid affairs. Among the soldiers and the artists, Among the philosophers, The drag queens and the disasters, And T.S. Eliot and his mermaids.
There, in a smoky haze Of toasts and time, I found meaning. Friends, lovers, actors, Huddled together one cold October, Not for pay, not for fame. Drawn together merely to drink our fill On the intoxicating elixir of humble creation.
It was there, In those chilly nights Of backyard theatrics, In the raw camaraderie Of presenting art for art's sake, That I found myself, Whole and true.
So many plays and shows I have oft participated in, And many days have passed Since that blissful October, But the vivid memory forever remains Of the perfect cast of players bound together In the pure glee of organic imaginings As we explored the dark against the light.
Did we know? Did we comprehend, then, The magnitude of beauty to be found Within the ties that held us together? Perhaps the rest never did quite feel the current Of the electric wonder we evoked beneath the stars; Not only in our karaoke-laden performance, But in our offstage whisperings and antics - Friendships forged in a campfire flame.
I cannot speak for the others, But as for myself - A girl now disillusioned By Louisiana cynics And toxic hometown politics - I am nostalgic for those nights That I spoke of Michelangelo.