Should I take the front row?
Or maybe I chose the row in the back?
It is not easy to choose a seat,
Here in the old theater of love.
I saw my name on the billboard,
Ok, in the small printings below.
I feel anyway I count for something,
When it comes to my part of the play.
I am now in my seat waiting,
The seat beside is empty still.
I fantasies about a queen sitting there,
With a big dress and crown, nodding.
The light is now turn down,
The spotlights are on the stage.
Soft music is beginning to float,
Filling tunes in my ears, slowly.
The crescendo sounds nice,
I am happy now and smiles in the dark.
At the scene an actor is quoting Byron,
Underneath wings of love, now that's mine.
Silver beams cut the darkness,
A woman is standing in red dress.
Leaning her head against the pale moon,
It is an old poem unfolding in front of me.
I feel the presence of a person near me,
I can't see due to the pale light on stage.
Now I feel a soft hand on my arm,
a sharp fragrance hitting my nostrils.
I know the smell and the warmth of the hand,
I am move to tears, by a silky touch.
It feels so gentle and light at the same time,
There is a pleasant atmosphere in me.
Byron you old guy, member of the poets gang.
Your words are spoken in me, yet unspoken for all.
I am joyful like a schoolboy seeing the very first play,
The words that creates you for life, to be or not to be.
Love is floating in me while tears run on my cheeks,
Life is better than any staged play,
Even the best plays ever, can't beat love,
Words on stage and you beside, dressed as my queen.
