Face still glorified with stage makeup,
she trudges through the stillness of the parking lot
as the blank moon begins to drag itself listlessly across the sky.
Behind her lies a stage robed in emptiness,
unless you count the brittle scenery,
weary from weeks on triumphant display
and doomed for teardown the next morning.
Tonight she had dazzled in the soft glow of the spotlight,
her soaring voice stirring the hearts of the audience,
and then there was the applause, the bows and congratulations,
the glamour of roses, the worship of younger theater hopefuls,
the bliss like heaviness in the air before a summer storm.
But the rain had fallen and the parking lot was already dry.
What good is it being a star in a night so black?