I miss my theater
I miss the lights
I'm finding I even miss
The many sleepless nights

Cause now I lie awake
My head so filled with song
I'm finding that without you
The world just feels so wrong

I miss the chaos
I miss my crew
I miss every little thing
That I used to do

I cannot reschedule
The last curtain call
I cannot imagine
A year without you all

I'm crying, I'm trying
The tears, they never fall
I cannot imagine
A year without you all

"Ladies and Gentlemen... Here comes the..."
.
.
The artist walks towards the stage as he hears the cue,
.
.
"Costume, check.
Makeup, check.
Smile, check.
Confidence, check"
He ticks all his mind checklist for one last time
as he walks towards the spotlight
just like those fireflies attracted to lights.
Getting out of the backstage
leaving behind all his doubts and worries,
His courage steps on to his own canvas
to create his own masterpiece.

Amidst the dramatic lights and
music that stirs emotions,
Given all the audience's attention
Feels like he is the center of gravity
attracting all the curious eyes.

Holding in a dynamic mix of
excitement, nervousness and boundless happiness
He bursts out his hardwork and professionalism.
.
.
.
.
.
"Thank you"
With the ending note
all he remembers is the applause
and the audience reactions
that mirrored exactly what he imagined
while creating the masterpiece,
and his performance remains
like a lucid dream in his memory.

As he walks down the stage
anybody could see the satisfaction
he proudly carried over his shoulders.

You're always in a state of shock
Looking up to a clock
Waiting for bad luck
Patience for your thunderstruck
For that, they called you a moonstruck

The clock starts ticking,
and people keep clicking,
Mining for a nitpicking
Till you start panicking

What would you do if they start picking?

I know you very well
From that single ring of the doorbell
It would be a shame if you said farewell
Cause you don't figure to show and tell

Fear not, you should not be in-shock
Once the clock starts ticking, it will be all good luck
You are meant to be a rainbow, not a moon-struck
A hidden gemstone with a sun-struck
Patience for your thunder-struck

Time will tell, that you have served them well
Now this is a story for your glory
Next to a foundation that will exceed their expectations
The shot that you will never throw like a cloth.
Till the streets are now excitin', especially when you're fightin'
Don't get so sorrow, for there will be another tomorrow.

All is well to say, the road is rough
But I know you're tough.
You're not glass but you're holding a glass
Till you rule a class, to ignore those sass
Till you hold your mass
To a voyage till you forget the dark past.

Life could be beautiful as Veronica said
Three colors did change you
Till you became blue
But you never failed to escape from being suppressed to the blue

As your companion at night
I am amazed by your might
Of singing every octave in the night
You always have the choice to never leave your voice.
Now as I end these words with "A music of the night", should be the title of this voice.

I wished for sympathy from the crowd in some sense
A soliloquy would reveal my morbid intent
Then tear burned lenses would hold a reflection
Curving their contempt towards my affection

I sought after sympathy from the crowd in some way
That a minor character might die in my play
A supporting actress would cry her last chorus
And I readied to draw tears for the both of us

I coveted sympathy from the crowd in some fashion
But she dropped to the floor before assumed "action!"
Curtains now drawing, how should I act?
The audience sees clearly, dry eyes still intact

I demand sympathy from the crowd at last
Disbelief's broadcast came grouped in a gasp
"This is not the tragedy, her character did not die!
Only the mask that wears her, please stand by"

In desolate places, I leave all my faces.
The masks and disguises, construction of lies.
The spotlight of fear, my delight and dimise.

As curtains close, applause fades,
alone with the shadows of self that pervades.
Ghosts of the past, that once were true.
Withered and lost, in my daily debut.
To please and to pleasure, a pointless measure.
Unable to escape, I'm asleep but awake.

I wriggle and writh in my own divide,
tearing apart from depths deep inside.
Empty halls and vacant seats,
angels and demons fatefully meet.

Crimson flows as roses fall,
the closing act as curtains call.
My death is rebirth, the dove and the crow,
a final bow at the end of my show.

Dust sparkles against blinking lights,
Casting their colors against empty grays.
Twinkling they quickly dissolve,
Their second of brilliance.
The mascots of this fleeting art.

The silence is filled with whispers,
Of long forgotten lines and songs.
The dead soliloquy left on the floor.
Waiting for another to warm its blood.
How many lay on this painted floor?

Colors will open caskets,
Solos will steal bright smiles
Replace them with gnawing pain
Harmony will hearken hope
Teach the *******.

Soon, the overstuffed chairs will fill
With hungry eyes ready to judge.
Tonight, they will leave gorged,
Gasping for air and looking for liquid relief.
The life coming is full and ready.

The faint sounds are building.
The actors are warming their voices.
The musicians are tuning their strings.
While I flip switches, open lines,
And brace to harness the flow.