She hides in the light,

Taking comfort in the harsh yellow glaring eye.

Strange, but still an escape from

The darkness that strips away your skin

And hides many wonders;

Things to be wary of.

Like the faded red velvet,

Voices of the midnight patrons

Are soft and brittle to the touch.  

They sound like clinging static

That remains on her restless clothes.

As the distant orchestra soars,

She begins to miss it, not for the sounds,

But for the taste of a new

Melody that feels untouchable

And more real than the dirty

Smudged panels of the stage.

The music still reaches her

Around the corner,

And she wraps it around herself

Like the finest shawl she never had,

Leaving behind the sounds.

So she remains, hiding in the light.

It reveals everything and nothing

Under the yellow eye

That sees many but not her.