"Ladies and Gentlemen... Here comes the..."
The artist walks towards the stage as he hears the cue,
He ticks all his mind checklist for one last time
as he walks towards the spotlight
just like those fireflies attracted to lights.
Getting out of the backstage
leaving behind all his doubts and worries,
His courage steps on to his own canvas
to create his own masterpiece.
Amidst the dramatic lights and
music that stirs emotions,
Given all the audience's attention
Feels like he is the center of gravity
attracting all the curious eyes.
Holding in a dynamic mix of
excitement, nervousness and boundless happiness
He bursts out his hardwork and professionalism.
With the ending note
all he remembers is the applause
and the audience reactions
that mirrored exactly what he imagined
while creating the masterpiece,
and his performance remains
like a lucid dream in his memory.
As he walks down the stage
anybody could see the satisfaction
he proudly carried over his shoulders.
You're always in a state of shock
Looking up to a clock
Waiting for bad luck
Patience for your thunderstruck
For that, they called you a moonstruck
The clock starts ticking,
and people keep clicking,
Mining for a nitpicking
Till you start panicking
What would you do if they start picking?
I know you very well
From that single ring of the doorbell
It would be a shame if you said farewell
Cause you don't figure to show and tell
Fear not, you should not be in-shock
Once the clock starts ticking, it will be all good luck
You are meant to be a rainbow, not a moon-struck
A hidden gemstone with a sun-struck
Patience for your thunder-struck
Time will tell, that you have served them well
Now this is a story for your glory
Next to a foundation that will exceed their expectations
The shot that you will never throw like a cloth.
Till the streets are now excitin', especially when you're fightin'
Don't get so sorrow, for there will be another tomorrow.
All is well to say, the road is rough
But I know you're tough.
You're not glass but you're holding a glass
Till you rule a class, to ignore those sass
Till you hold your mass
To a voyage till you forget the dark past.
Life could be beautiful as Veronica said
Three colors did change you
Till you became blue
But you never failed to escape from being suppressed to the blue
As your companion at night
I am amazed by your might
Of singing every octave in the night
You always have the choice to never leave your voice.
Now as I end these words with "A music of the night", should be the title of this voice.
I wished for sympathy from the crowd in some sense
A soliloquy would reveal my morbid intent
Then tear burned lenses would hold a reflection
Curving their contempt towards my affection
I sought after sympathy from the crowd in some way
That a minor character might die in my play
A supporting actress would cry her last chorus
And I readied to draw tears for the both of us
I coveted sympathy from the crowd in some fashion
But she dropped to the floor before assumed "action!"
Curtains now drawing, how should I act?
The audience sees clearly, dry eyes still intact
I demand sympathy from the crowd at last
Disbelief's broadcast came grouped in a gasp
"This is not the tragedy, her character did not die!
Only the mask that wears her, please stand by"
Any comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated
this stage became yours
and the reality has fallen apart
by the industrial silence
I am but a reflection of your shadow
gaslighted by your key-light
deprived of my enlightenment
there is no yesterday
and tomorrow has never existed
while the stone has its permanent role of aching
my part is the interim of now
In desolate places, I leave all my faces.
The masks and disguises, construction of lies.
The spotlight of fear, my delight and dimise.
As curtains close, applause fades,
alone with the shadows of self that pervades.
Ghosts of the past, that once were true.
Withered and lost, in my daily debut.
To please and to pleasure, a pointless measure.
Unable to escape, I'm asleep but awake.
I wriggle and writh in my own divide,
tearing apart from depths deep inside.
Empty halls and vacant seats,
angels and demons fatefully meet.
Crimson flows as roses fall,
the closing act as curtains call.
My death is rebirth, the dove and the crow,
a final bow at the end of my show.
Dust sparkles against blinking lights,
Casting their colors against empty grays.
Twinkling they quickly dissolve,
Their second of brilliance.
The mascots of this fleeting art.
The silence is filled with whispers,
Of long forgotten lines and songs.
The dead soliloquy left on the floor.
Waiting for another to warm its blood.
How many lay on this painted floor?
Colors will open caskets,
Solos will steal bright smiles
Replace them with gnawing pain
Harmony will hearken hope
Teach the *******.
Soon, the overstuffed chairs will fill
With hungry eyes ready to judge.
Tonight, they will leave gorged,
Gasping for air and looking for liquid relief.
The life coming is full and ready.
The faint sounds are building.
The actors are warming their voices.
The musicians are tuning their strings.
While I flip switches, open lines,
And brace to harness the flow.
I wrote this while sitting in a dark theatre just as house opened. I was the sound engineer for a little musical called Fun Home with 9 singers and a 15 piece orchestra.
Precious, treasured memories
Floating by on the summer breeze.
Magical, swinging melodies;
Looking back on a world of dreams.
The golden heat from the gleaming lights,
Wav’ring forms in spectators’ sights,
Costumes and set-pieces, perfect delights;
Looking back on a world of art.
Voices ringing through the breathless air,
Some words forgotten and some still there,
Cries and laughter, joy and despair;
Looking back on a world of sound.
The smile on my lips as the crowd’s cheers roar
We hold hands and bow as they shout “encore!”
For two nights only, then never more,
Looking back on a world gone wild.
Then, in an eyeblink, the daydream fades
Our paths intertwined, but now we’ve parted our ways
The magic in memory alone remains,
Making way for the world of fall.