The Theatre’s Thaumaturges

It’s the orchestra,

using their heartbeats to keep time,

pulsing with the vibrance of syncopation.

It’s the crew,

darting

in their all-black attire

in the dark,

performing an intricate dance

that no one else will see.

It’s the audience,

willing

to suspend their cognizance of

reality,

and

delve

into an unknown world.

The art, the lights, the music, lithe and lolloping charm the senses:

a disorienting magic that

invites

beckons

pleads

with you to dance.

But

most of all,

when the lights are extinguished,

instruments packed, and

clothes neatly folded, awaiting the chance to come alive again,

it’s the feeling-

my

soul

satiated with the brilliance of being.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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