After

The stage is empty.
The last musician is gone,
taking their instruments
and sheet of rustling music.

The audience has left,
their brightly colored clothes
and whispered praise,
only a memory,

and yet,
as you stand silently,
just you and the last lights,
the music reverberates, somehow

refusing to die.

About this poem

People come into our lives. People go. People die. And yet…. they don’t.

Not really.

Tom