He’s Quieter This Year
The acquiescence of tragedy.
As if once the words were screaming
with the theatricity he spoke.
As if once the words were gleaming
With the glimmer of silver and gold,
Or lapis lazuli banners,
Or velvety colors maroon.
Now all there is is the brown of mahogany,
The bitter sweet of tobacco,
The acid taste of wine.
Wry sense of sarcastic comedy.
Fading elements of a thespian’s act,
Overshadowed by the looming factors
Of age.
He’s quieter this year.
And one day he’ll be silent.