My heart, My mind, My soul,
could never crave the temporal.
I joined the others on the stage that day,
with hopes - not too high; but hearts open wide.
Yet young lungs breathed in every word that she spoke.
"Our art is of the moment."
Never were words so true.
And never has any moment been so... captivating.
Tears fell as she offered her wisdom,
in interpretations of the text, the rhythm, the tune.
Bodies shaked as we emptied our very lives
into the artwork - the masterpiece...
the moment.
And passion fell again on our cheeks.
And her cheeks.
And the audience's flooding cheeks.
"Our art is of the moment" resounded
somewhere deep under even the booming voices.
Our art was of the moment.
And that moment was simply... transcendental.

"You'll never sing again the way you did just now,
will you?"
"No"