The radiant glow is only on the lips,
Inside the mind, is utter gloom of melancholy.
Everything is make-belief, and facade.
The vivacity of feisty is extinct
Half way, through the night.
The melody is only in the stage,
It grows into a dirge, in the green room.
Impaired shape, miserable wretched face,
Worn out adornments, and dark visage.
When I approached the stage, before the viewers
All the barrages, shattered and tears
Deluged the soul, throbbing in pain.
Dreams that dare not fade, though forgotten,
Like pictures of ornate glass, splintered.
You have become a despondent remembrance
In me, enervating, with incessant groans.