Phantom of the OperaA Poem by BuzzyB
He is a lamp post, seen yet unseen.
A street sign no one reads. Like a billboard, he flashes loneliness in neon but no one blinks. He is a gaping gargoyle, meant to swallow the rain but never invited in, because he is no longer understood. Like the Phantom of the Opera, He lives behind walls, his human face disqualified from the daylight. Like the Beast of Beauty and the Beast, he is shunned because he does not know how to be gentle without being erased, how to be strong without being frightening. Women look through him and walk quickly past. They’d rather sleep with their cats. He talks to his hands and legs, he touches his lips, strokes his teacup with longing. He smiles at his TV, rehearsing tenderness with objects that don’t recoil. The neighbour’s dog knows him but not the neighbours. Silence slams him when he opens a door. Voids hurt his waking eyes. If a bird comes chirping on his ledge he feels greeted. He looks out and another season has passed. At night he freezes into stone, a heart beating deep within, a phantom heart, singing in the dark made for a world that ended without telling him. © 2026 BuzzyBAuthor's Note
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