Hollow Halls

Hollow Halls long poem

She drags her tired heels across the tainted floor
Her poise held taut though her back is sore
She holds on her face a cold marble stare
A hard life engraved upon cheeks once so fair

Her movements; once grace exemplified
Her aching limbs; with guile, defied
Her last performance on this dark empty stage
Memories now fleeting of a much better age

The roar of the crowd in the heat of the lights
Commanding the stage to the cries of delight
Standing ovations from sold out rooms
The cries of ‘Encore’ and bouquets of blooms

A West End starlet; she danced on thin air
Forever performing to the spotlight’s glare
The flash of the cameras; the jostling fans
Her fluttering eyelashes would meet their demands

Talk-shows and dinners; awards and applause
Accolades and roses received without pause
A star on the boulevard; her hands cast in stone
Everyone praised her and bowed at her throne

She had reached for the heavens and in starlight she basked
The world was her oyster; she could have all she asked
But her deal with the devil was soon to be paid
Like any sweet rose, she must finally fade

Soon the face in the mirror would define all her time
A light dusty trail at the end of each line
Till the cracks in the glass couldn’t mask her demise
Just dull flaking make-up on a weary disguise

The halls became vacant like her own distant stare
From tired cold eyes behind dull brittle hair
Her body defying her own desperate pleas
To return to the times of such graceful ease

And she drags tired heels across the dull stained floor
Her body now trembling as she reaches for the door
With a last tearful glance at the dark aging boards
No more bright flashing lights or cheering hoards

She turns and with a mournful sigh
Closes the door with a silent goodbye
The rain is hard and the cold wind bites
As she stiffly walks off into the dark stormy night

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Darren Scanlon

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ALL POEMS ©2015 DARREN SCANLON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. * Words and music have always played a major role in my life. A life without being able to enjoy music and express in words would be, for me, empty and cold.I have been writing since age 16, some 30+ years now but have only recently started publishing my works. Since doing so in Dec 2013, I have published 4 novels and 5 volumes of poetry, (available on Amazon.co.uk).My words are my life. If they touch you in any way, if you are able to take something from them, then my work has achieved its goal and I am a happy man.Welcome to my world. Darren.
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Your poem, @dartherino, gave a countdown to oblivion for stage performers. And this may happen if their performances are not set on a new stage elsewhere for a change of venue. And here ambulant showmen and women could find fresh audiences. The same with itinerant stage troupers who would arrange for performances on tours. Once the crowd thins, it’s time to move. Your portrayal of the days
of the Diva on the sunset of her popularity brings a sad feeling. But you broke your rhyme on the last two lines. Maybe if you rethink one of the lines to read: “The rain is hard, adding blues to her plight”
the rhyme will be restored. But that should not detract to the brilliance of this skillfully worded write.


It’s fine just the way it is thanks.

Swathi Rao

A nice write.. wistful memories of the days gone by..


Haha it happened again, as i was reading this gypsy by fleetwood mac came on, i love when a song enhaces a beautifully written peice. Thanks Darren.


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