The Final Curtain
- Alexis L.
- Jan 15
- 1 min read
I stand on the stage of melancholy and guilt
a theatre carved from shadow and memory.
The play begins.
Act I — Elysium
Light floods the stage like Apollo’s chariot.
The crowd roars for golden days,
where joy is painted in warm brushstrokes.
Even Helios nods in approval.
And we dance beneath the favour of the gods.
Act II — Descent
Twilight creeps in as soft as Hades’ whisper.
The script turns bitter.
love fades like Eurydice in the mist.
I search for her, but the Fates pull the strings
and I am bound to loss.
The audience watches as I grieve
with the silence of Orpheus after the song.
Act III — Oblivion
The final act arrives, cloaked in Nyx’s veil.
Not a soul stirs.
Even the stars have turned their gaze.
No applause. Only the echo
of the soul’s unraveling.
The dark has consumed the stage—
And I forget I was ever the actor.
