Footlights

A chorus of marionettes
Conducted by cursed icons
Faces flushed by footlights
Feet numb now the act
Is closing, counting bars
Barely breathing now the
Wings speak to them
Sighing in approval
But the curtain never falls
Enchanted they remain
Upon the ancient rostrum
Repeating recitations
Even as the flesh falls
From their forms
Even as their bones break
Brittle and dusty
Crumbling
The puppets perform
Perpetually
Pitch perfect