curtain call
Fabric goes up, not grandly—
just a panel pulled aside
to show a room arranged for looking.
Painted air, yes,
but the kind you find in old halls
where someone once patched the ceiling
and didn’t bother sanding it smooth.
People step through,
wearing whatever the night required.
Not costumes—just layers
they’ve learned to carry.
They move the way workers do
when the job is familiar
and floorboards know their weight.
Nothing here pretends to be truth.
Nothing here pretends not to be.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 29th, 2026 05:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu, sorenbarrett, Friendship, Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: 2026.
Offline)
Comments9
Wow this is one of my favorite poems of the year.. great visuals
Thank you Demar! Most privileged and encouraged. 🙏🕊️
Cryptic your work has grown deeper. To me this is the description of art revealed the common made viewable truth or not it is revealed different to each viewers eye. A fave my friend
The attempt was to respond to a poem about actors being talented liars and liars being bad actors... but as you can see the direction went elsewhere. SO amazing that the beholder gets the revelation coming to them which is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, in the same breath🙏🕊️
Cryptic I have had the same experience with my poems where the direction goes elsewhere and I sometimes wonder why and other times am thrilled where it went.
Could be likened to storm chasing in some ways. And hopefully in poetry a good kind of storm🕊️🙏🏻🤩
great write my friend
Thanks, dear Norman 🙏🕊️
most welcome
Excellent job, your poem addresses the act of revealing one's true self while navigating social expectations. It portrays a scene where people come together, not in elaborate costumes, but in the everyday layers of their identities, highlighting how they present themselves to the world.
Thanks, Friendship. Indeed it is 🙏🕊️
❤️
Good write A.
Thanks O.
The cast of the world and how we all portray ourselves to the world, either what we think they want to see or what we are prepared to show, but as with all things, the truth is rarely forthcoming and remains hidden behind the masks and the layers we build, pleasure to read
So true. Than you so much 🙏🏻🕊️
A pleasure
arqios, that image of a space left imperfect…still bearing the marks of use…really stayed with me. It gives the whole piece a lived-in truth that feels undeniable. Beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Like scars and stone chips on paintwork. Thanks, Tittu 🙏🏻🕊️
For me this can go either of two ways. The actors namely the people are liars and really not concerned with truth or it is a metaphor for life. Life is filled with mendacity. Lies upon lies. This is a great poem because it creates a great image from the outset. Enjoyed reading
Glad you did too! Many thanks, amigo🙏🏻🕊️
Excellent ++ & I have no hesitation in assigning my most coveted ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐👍
I haven’t seen those in yonks! Thanks, Neville 🌟🙏🏻🕊️
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