Under the silhouette of the moonlight,
Before the indifferent herd,
She treads closer to the stage
And her footsteps fall away
Into the anticipating swarm.

She begins to craft
Vocal projections
With the melody
That sweeps across the theatre
Into the collection of listeners.

Slave,
Born to serve.
Unaware of her true
Status with the multitude,
She is lured into the ecstasy of the moment.

Her petite, inviting image
Engages my thoughts
With fantasies
As the melodious rapture
Enslaves me.

Whispers from the horde
Shatter my embrace
With the illusion.
Remorselessly echoing…
Just another slave-girl.

She smiles at the assemblage
Pleased with her performance…
Unaware of the settling
Fog of indifference
Towards her luxurious voice.

The curtain falls
And I’m still standing.