Sunday, October 3, 2010
There's place on the edge of town,
Where spirits often gather.
They appear when no ones around,
To share and drink together.
Entities of personalities,
Hollywood's hallowed names.
Heaven's walk of fame.
They fantasize and reminisce,
About good times and the bad.
They drink to lives they all miss,
Drown sorrows each one's had.
The bar is lined with Father Time's,
Ghosts of darkened screens.
They raise their glasses synchronized,
Toast fan hearkened scenes.
If one happens to catch a glimpse,
For one fleeting split second.
In the blink of eye they dispense,
Into wisps of plasmic essence.
Outside bright lights and neon signs,
Cast shadows and hope-filled beams.
While honored stars seek encores,
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
Copyright © September 2010