Silence
Wait, no, someone just coughed
Loud bastard
Anyway
Silence
The material shifts
Over my knees
As I sit patiently
My precious wooden heart
Comfortably under my arm
My eyes rest on
The bars of rest
On a school issued
Aluminum music stand;
The name of a middle school
Stamped on the back
In a bleeding white
My teacher stands still
She is clearly nervous by
The way her ice blue
Eyes dart across the
Large ensemble of
Bored preteen musicians
The silence is broken
By a volunteer
She hides her obvious
Dull emotions with
A small smile as
She reads the repertoire;
The three pieces I've
Been working on for
Two months
The small audience claps
Politely, the sound
Reverberating bluntly
Off of the stark walls
My teacher commented on
It's dead sound
But not it's dead feel
Speaking of, she
Springs from behind the
Curtain, tailed by a twelve
Year old Chinese prodigy
A smile graces my tired
Lips for the first
Time that day
My stand partner sits
Straighter, and I follow
Soon after
He's a quiet boy
Overshadowed slightly
By his higher
Ranking younger twin
But that doesn't matter right now
What matters is the
Piece in front of me
One I took a liking to
It's melody entranced me
My smile grows wider
The black satin
Covering my body shifts
Silkily as I pull my
Violin into my lap
A small breeze reminds
Me of the large dress
I'm wearing
The conductor holds
Up her score
Reminding us of the
Piece we are
About to play
She puts it down
Then raises her hands
All is quiet as we
Get into position
I feel my will
Disappear as I steady
My instrument between my
Chin and my shoulder
I can hear a player
Shuffling his feet
I can feel the
Pregnant pause before
All of us, as one
Unleash the storm
In the form of
Raw music
I feel powerful
We feel powerful
All of us are a unit
No one is the leader
We all play with each other
The black satin
Brushes the linoleum floor
No one dares breathe
We are a machine of glory
A monster
We are a force to be reckoned with
I feel myself losing
Individuality
As we all come
Together as a single
Orchestra
One beat
Two beats
We begin
YOU ARE READING
constantly blooming.
Poetry'i will never stop blooming, like an eternal rose of flame... i may have my times of smolder and small sparks, but i will always become a huge inferno in the end... and nothing can stop me.' Collection of poetry and prose between the ages of 10-15...
