Angles,
The light shines on me,
A full of circle,
Right on me.
The immense brightness,
And heat,
Together with,
My stiff tuxedo.
Heat engulfs my body,
Beads of sweat threatening,
To roll down my neck.
My fingers,
Cold as ice.
I follow protocol,
Smile, then bow.
Will they like my playing?
What if they don't?
Possibilities race through my mind,
Hitting me repeatedly,
Inflating my nerves.
I glanced at the crowd,
Not knowing who was here,
And who wasn't.
I just knew,
The show had to go on.
In danger of,
Losing control,
Over everything I've practiced for.
I'm frozen,
An ice sculpture,
With a face of horror,
Forever there,
Encrypted,
Engraved,
Into the audience's minds.
I sit on the black leather,
Push it in.
Crucial seconds tick by.
Their stares,
Piercing into my nerve wrecked soup,
Strong hands squeezed at my heart,
Making the nerves bubble,
Like a sinister potion,
The evil witch in stories,
Would make.
Except,
There is no princess to fall victim,
The victim is me,
And so is the culprit.
My fingers hover,
The eighty eight,
Ivory keys.
A nine feet monster,
Enticing me.
Flow,
I order my stoned fingers.
Sliding across the keys,
Pressing them,
Making the right sounds,
At the right volume,
Ring across the hall.
The grand sounds,
Break down the walls,
Of my anxiety,
Putting me at an ease,
With the music I produce.
Preparation is gruel,
And so are the minutes,
Before the big show.
Once it starts,
Your stiff fingers,
Soften,
Glides gracefully.
Music for the soul,
On a rainy day.
