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Too Late
The stage
has all but cleared.
All the souls
have gone home
for that long farewell.

No more matinees to be had;
no encore will echo
through these halls.

(silence)

The curtains,
now drawn with grace,
hang heavy
with dust and hush.
Not a single chair remains,
unforsaken.

(waiting)

Slowly decaying
listening to the
quiet hush
of the theater.

(stillness)

Too late.
The script is completed,
the final bow taken.
Only Silent echoes remain.
A meditation on endings. Whether it's a relationship, a life, or a moment, some final bows are taken in silence—with nothing left but dust, echoes, and stillness.

— The End —