The Show is Over

Published by

The Show is Over
Rate this poem

The tale of us is at an end
and now all that is left
is a sad, slow denouement,
the dance of love bereft.
All the crises have been resolved;
the plot, once thick, has thinned.
Our sets dismantled, stage empty,
because we’ve reached the end.
Our love was but a fantasy
of rainbows and moonbeams;
a dream rent by reality:
love’s seldom what it seems.
The curtain on our play has closed,
now we play other parts:
picking up the bits and pieces
left of our shattered hearts.

Dedicated to "The Girl from The Napa Valley"



2 thoughts on “The Show is Over”

  1. As long as there’s a start, there will be an end, either a good one, or … vice actually versa: when there’s an end, there will be a new start; one thing for sure, nothing is still and forever means progressing.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *