The Forgotten Theatre

An abandoned place reminiscing the poem The Forgotten Theatre

The forgotten theatre was hidden in the heart of the old city,
Nestled between towering buildings,
Once a grand beacon, now forsaken,
Crumbled and cloaked in ivy’s embrace.

Once grand, now dust and vine,
Ornate facade hidden away,
Marquee unlit, letters faded,
Abandoned, haunting in dismay.

Legends whispered of a night,
A performance at the height of its fervour, tragic,
Flames consumed with terrifying speed,
Trapped souls in a fiery magic.

Spirits bound to the stage,
Their untimely demise,
Haunting the theatre still,
In ghostly, sorrowful cries.

Interior, a labyrinth of decay,
Air thick with dust and mildew,
Floorboards creaked ominously,
A grand chandelier in a webbed hue.

Red velvet seats faded and torn,
Once plush, now mould and rot,
An opulent auditorium,
In neglect, long forgotten.

The charred stage, a sombre reminder,
The backdrop faded and torn,
Orchestra pit, a dark void,
Instruments broken, forlorn.

At night, the theatre came to life,
Faint music filled the halls,
Shadows of performers flitted,
Ghostly symphony echoed calls.

Empty seats held ghostly spectators,
Faces pale, gaunt in despair,
Disembodied voices and laughter,
A crowd was no longer there.

A woman in a tattered costume,
Face streaked with soot and tears,
Wandered halls in deep sorrow,
Searching through the years.

Backstage, narrow corridors,
Dressing rooms were silent and cold,
Mirrors cracked and tarnished,
Reflections of stories untold.

Costumes hung in tatters,
Colours faded with age,
The lingering scent of smoke,
Haunting every stage.

At dawn, the ghostly faded,
The theatre fell silent anew,
Chandelier, charred stage, empty seats,
Witnesses to tragedy’s rue.

Spirits bound to the theatre,
In restless slumber, they lay,
Waiting for the night to awaken,
To haunt, to dance, to play.

A testament to sorrow’s power,
The forgotten theatre stands,
Spirits perform in ghostly hours,
A nighttime can’t erase demands.

The city moved on, bustling streets,
In contrast to the eerie presence,
Past and present intertwined,
In shadows, whispers, and essence.
Esther Elizabeth Racah

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