A lonely chair sits on a stage
The lights above brighten the wooden floor but cast a shadow on the rows of seats
The red curtain illuminates like sunlight through crystals
I walk out from behind the darkness of the curtain
My eyes fighting to see through to the crowd but I cannot
I sit in the chair and I say my words from my pages
Words that fall from my calm tongue like a prelude to a symphony
But I realize halfway through
No one sits in the seats
I speak to the silence of the theater
My heart beats slower as I stop speaking
I tumble in my thoughts
That people would rather look at their machines in their hands
To tell them this how we should be
How the world is in our hands
But arrogance of oneself grows like a benign tumor
The culture of intimacy is dying with the loss of words and sight
Now they are corrupted by a shallowness of applications that show an untrustworthy soul
I drop my pages onto the stage and rise up from the chair
I walk to the red curtain parting it
I stop and turn my head enough for my left eye to see
But I turn my head away
Leaving behind a complacent beginning
I close the curtain behind me
Entering the shadow of antiquity