The Old Opera House

Even in the dimmer light—
Long after the crowds
Have parted;
Gesticulating, as Italians do, the sopranos’
Luscious, lyric trills,
And the tenors’ thrilling High C’s
Quivering all our knees—
The empty Opera House
Always teems of
Classically performing.

Is it the guilt and crystal chandeliers,
That keeps part of our souls seated and enthralled
Long after the tears and cheering
Expire?
Long after the curtain falls
And encore after encore
We toast the dramatic-bowing—
Roses spilling from the balconies:
The Divas gather, as if sacred spice,
They sensuously dab and press
To their glistening breasts—
Long after the sumptuous lows
And glass-tingling E’s
Have left our palms and throats red and hoarse,
The theater is never entirely silent—
Never departed and quietly laid to rest—
As the phantom and Caruso
Many a custodian swear they have seen and heard
Gloriously above the stage
Amid a frieze of Angel Choirs.

The Old Opera House

devotee1

Joined February 2008

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